


winter nights, ashes of roses

by ultraviolence



Category: Fate/Grand Order, Fate/Prototype: Fragments of Sky Silver, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms, Fate/stay night - All Media Types, Fate/stay night: Unlimited Blade Works (Anime 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Camelot spoilers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-09-14 23:45:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 40,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16922646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ultraviolence/pseuds/ultraviolence
Summary: Fujimaru Ritsuka accidentally summoned a Servant and got dragged into participating in a bloody ritual called the Holy Grail War. Now it's up to him to deal with the consequences...and his Servant. AU.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> HAHA I SWEAR THIS IS UNPLANNED. What is it with me and Lancers. I was just watching UBW and the plot bunnies appeared. 
> 
> Enjoy!

There was a _thump thump thump_ inside of him that he didn’t know existed before, before the accidental summoning. It started like a small storm, incinerating his veins and for a second—for an infinite, electrifying moment—Ritsuka Fujimaru forgot his pain and he could feel everything in the universe, everything that was, is, and everything that will be. 

The summoning circle activated. If he knew more about magecraft, if his father taught him more before he passed away, Ritsuka would have known that a path was forming from the Spirit world, the three-forked path that connected the Throne of Heroes and the human world. 

“ _Help me_ ,” he said, desperately, to no one, not knowing anything, a boy caught in the midst of a brewing storm, his nerves and Magical Circuits on fire—

And a Servant answered his call.

“Are you my Master?” He immediately demanded, a knight in shining silver-white-blue armour, mounted on a magnificent white stallion. His question was part threat, part inquiry, and Ritsuka, Circuits still on fire, doesn’t know what to say.

The helmeted knight lowered his glass-like lance. 

“Answer me,” he said, his voice as clear and commanding as day despite the alien-like helmet, and it reminded Ritsuka of a rushing river, of thunderstorm looming in the horizon. “Answer me, or I will kill you, unknown mage.”

“W-wait,” Ritsuka said, finally finding the words that doesn’t immediately die in the cavity of his mouth, “please. Listen to me.”

There was half of a silence that felt like it stretches onto eternity, half a silence where Ritsuka could again hear the thump thump thump of his heart, still a chamber desperate for survival. 

The knight lowered his lance a little.

“By my code of honour, I am bound to,” he said, dryly, “I am listening. I will give you ten seconds starting from now.”

“I don’t- I don’t know what happened,” Ritsuka said, and everything sounds jumbled, the words racing together to get out of his mouth, to _get out_ , and he briefly despised himself for that. He knew he sounded pathetic. Hell, he knew he looked pathetic, down on the floor of the unused storage, clutching his wound. But the knight was listening—although Ritsuka knew he was on borrowed time once more, for the third time this week—his stance regal, and…and he couldn’t help wondering, for a moment, what was underneath the helmet. If there was a human being there, or at least a human-like being. 

“Is that all?” The knight responded, coldly. He lowered his spear again, and this time it began to shine with a luminosity that lightens up the dark storage-room—

“No! Wait! Stop! Please, I beg you,” Ritsuka exclaimed, trying to move away from the knight. His father had mentioned once about summoning circles, though he hurried away from it. This is the first time Ritsuka saw it for real. “I really don’t know anything. I was attacked earlier—“

“By a Servant?” He cuts Ritsuka off, flatly. It bothers Ritsuka, a little. It was as if there was only a shred of humanity left in him. Whatever he is underneath the helmet, he was surely not human.

“I- I don’t know. I-“

“Quiet,” the knight shushed him, harshly. His spear stopped glowing, and he raised it. “An enemy is approaching,” he stated, “whether you are my Master or not, I am bound by the code of chivalry to protect you. Stand back. Lock yourself in this place, I do not care.”

“But-“ Ritsuka still tried to explain, but the knight had readied himself, and shuts him off with what he imagined was a cold look.

“We will resolve the question later. Right now, your safety is paramount.”

Before he could say anything more or even open his mouth, the knight had galloped out of the storage, destroying the door along the way.

* * *

“So you have no concept of what being a Master is,” his rescuer said, after the surprisingly short battle—Ritsuka made him stop with what is called a ‘Command Seal’, apparently—scepticism written all over his words, and, he imagined, his expression too, since he hasn’t taken off his helmet, although he did dismounted (and his lance disappeared).

“No,” Ritsuka told him, honestly. “I don’t know what a Servant is, either. My father…my father never told me.”

“Then your father was an incompetent fool, and a terrible mage at that,” he said, blatantly. Ritsuka felt anger rising in him—how dare a stranger insult the memory of his dead father—but held himself back. “Have you no knowledge of the Holy Grail War, either?”

“The Holy Grail- _what_?” He said, emphasising all his confusion into one word. “Though, that aside, I still don’t know who you are yet…”

A long silence occurred, which Ritsuka supposed was natural for the knight. He doesn’t seem to be the type who talks a lot. 

Then, surprisingly, he took off his helmet, sighing deeply in the process.

“Lancer-class Servant, at your disposal,” he said, still in the same dry, uninterested tone, his eyes the sharpest shade of green, piercing into Ritsuka’s. His hair was as gold as the wheat fields that Ritsuka heard in the stories. Something about him was oddly familiar, just like something about him was deeply alien and strange. “Let’s see…I can’t give you my True Name because a stronger Master or another Servant might ferret it off your mind. Would that be alright with you, Master?”

_Master_. The title sounded so strange that Ritsuka couldn’t help but cringe a little at the sound of it. But, knowing Lancer was observing him, he quickly straightened up himself. 

“Lancer,” he said, offering his hand with a little smile, “it was nice to meet you.”

Oddly, he seemed surprised by the move. He stared at it for a long while, looking human for the first time that night. 

“You were supposed to take it,” Ritsuka told him, amiably. “Are you not used to handshakes?”

“N- no, of course not,” Lancer said, gripping his hand. His was a firm grip, and Ritsuka could guess that his hand was full of calluses, even gloved as it was. “I was just taken aback, that is all.”

“I hope we can get along,” Ritsuka continued, shaking his hand. 

“…yes. I hope we can work together,” he said, in return, after a moment of silence.

Ritsuka fancies that he saw the ghost of a smile, but that could just be the moonlight playing tricks.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night carries on, as an alliance is formed. Saber reflects on his past, while Ritsuka struggles to get along with Lancer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmm, I actually want Galahad to be Saber, but I thought Beddy would be so much more interesting. I've decided that this wouldn't /actually/ be an UBW AU, more like my own story, but it will borrow elements from UBW and Grand Order. Also, I'm definitely focusing more on dialogue and character development instead of fight scenes.
> 
> Onwards!

“Ah, I see. So that is what happened, senpai.”  


Mash Kyrielight is a serious, slight girl, with the air of someone who is considered mature for her age and even an “old soul”, though, for all her perceived wisdom, she is just as naive at heart as Ritsuka.   


She also happened to be the one whose Servant Lancer was fighting against earlier. Ritsuka stopped it with a Command Seal. Lancer doesn’t seem to be happy about it, leaning on the door in the corner with his hands crossed over his chest. His eyes were closed in deep concentration.

“By the way...” Ritsuka said, trailing off for a bit, “what are you doing this late outside, Mash?”  


Mash, somehow, seemed to be taken aback by Ritsuka’s question. Despite all that they know about each other—they practically lived together at this point, since she always spent the evenings at his house after club activities—Ritsuka had never seen this side of her before. She clutched her hand in a fist on her chest.  


“I’m trying to win the Holy Grail War, senpai.”  


It was Ritsuka’s turn to be surprised. He thought— he never thought that someone like her would willingly fight, let alone participate in a such a bloody war.   


“Then...you do have a wish for the Holy Grail?” he blurted out without thinking. Mash’s expression is unreadable, but she nodded.

“Yes. Though I prefer if you don’t ask anything more about it, senpai.”  


She seemed resolute about it, and somehow closed off—which left a somewhat sinking feeling in Ritsuka, who always viewed her as a little sister—as if all the moons in the world had shielded her true heart from prying eyes, and Ritsuka had no choice but to nod.  


“I won’t ask,” he said. “I promise. Anyway, your Servant—“  


“—is outside, keeping watch. I don’t see the point of this conversation,” Lancer interjected. Ritsuka couldn’t help but sit up and take notice. He supposed that the knight was what one would consider to be classically handsome, but there was something cold about him, something remote. It doesn’t help that he doesn’t make any attempts to be friendly to Mash or to her Servant.

“Well, I- I’m trying to teach senpai things,” Mash quickly said, apologetically. Ritsuka shot Lancer a dirty look, but the man doesn’t seem to care. “About The Holy Grail War, for example. Or the seven classes of Servants the Grail summoned...”  


“Tch. Pointless,” Lancer tsked, pointing at Ritsuka. “If he really is THAT dedicated to participate in the War, he would seek the knowledge by himself. Not relying on the advice of some half-boiled girl.”  


“You—“ Ritsuka said, half-rising from his seat. “Insult me all you want, but don’t insult Mash.”  


“Or what?” Lancer retorted, his green eyes narrowed. “You’re weak, you needed my healing abilities to recover from those wounds. If you attack me, I will kill you, Master or not.”  


“I could use another Command Spell—“ Ritsuka exclaimed, already pointing the back of his hand towards the Servant.   


“Stop it, senpai!” Mash jumped up, and Ritsuka felt shocked enough to calm down. It’s unlike Mash to exclaim, and it’s unlike her, too, to suddenly jumped up like that. “Fighting with your own Servant won’t bring anything useful. You should learn how to cooperate with him instead.”  


“Well, he apparently forgot our handshake earlier,” Ritsuka grumbled. “Now he just wants to kill me.”  


“A hand...shake?” Mash said, blinking slowly, trying to process this new information.  


“I- I don’t know anything about a handshake!” Lancer suddenly exclaimed, fiercely, summoning his lance. “Mention it again, and I will kill you.”  


“...alright,” Ritsuka agreed, though obviously still confused. “Put that thing aside, though. We haven’t had dinner. Aren’t you hungry?”  


“Isn’t it a bit late—“ Mash started, but was shushed by the astonished look on Lancer’s face. She had no idea that he could emote so well for someone who looked so cold—and so does Ritsuka, it seems.

“Dinner?” he echoed, as if Ritsuka suddenly sprouted wings. “N- no, Servants don’t eat. We consume mana. Since I couldn’t take any from you, I have to conserve mine. You would know this if you’re not a fourth-rate mage, you fool.”

“Now, now,” Ritsuka told him, holding his hands up, “I know I’m a fourth-rate mage. But can we at least agree that food is good?”  


Lancer stared at him for a long while—Ritsuka tried his best not to blush—before huffing and looking the other way.

“You’re an odd one, aren’t you?”  


“Sit down, Mash, Lancer,” Ritsuka told them with a laugh, forgetting their animosity earlier, already turning his back towards them and made his way towards the small kitchen. “I promise you, I’ll make you a meal you wouldn’t forget.”

“You’re welcome to try,” Lancer retorted, back to his cold, haughty tone. “My tastes are very refined.”  


* * *

“Aren’t you…heavy?” Ritsuka asked, when they were eating dinner. Despite his arrogant proclamation earlier, Lancer is currently on his third portion and is consuming even more rice as they speak. Thankfully Ritsuka had the foresight to make extra. “With the armor, I mean,” he quickly added, as the man suddenly stopped eating and pierced him with his gaze. “I think I have some spare clothes you can borrow. Maybe my dad’s. You’re older and bigger than me, after all.”

“A true knight has no need for such things,” he said, simply, and resumed wolfing down his food. “It was unnecessary. But I thank you for your concern, Master.”

It sounded genuine enough, despite his antics earlier, and Ritsuka nodded, spooning some rice into his mouth. 

“U- um,” Mash speaks up, and Ritsuka had nearly forgotten all about her, but now he looked at her. She seemed relaxed, more at ease, and completely enjoying the food. “The food is really good tonight, senpai. Many thanks. I wish Saber could enjoy this too…”

“Someone has to keep watch,” Ritsuka said, not unkindly. “Or, as you said earlier, someone will come and attack us. But I’ll be sure to make him some, if you want to.”

“That would be much appreciated…!” Mash said, nodding happily. “Do you, um, do you want more, Lancer?”

“…no,” Lancer merely said, finishing his current portion with inhuman speed. “I’ve had enough of this bland Japanese food.”

“But you- you looked like you were enjoying it…” Mash pointed out, but quickly shuts up, as Lancer stared at her coldly. 

“I was merely eating what my Master is capable of serving, that’s all,” he said, flatly, putting down his bowl. “It’s duty, nothing more, nothing less.” 

Mash seems confused, but Ritsuka could empathise. He, too, has no shortage of confusion tonight. She and Lancer had explained most of it to him, but what perplexed him the most was the character of his own Servant.

It was baffling, for someone so cold to be so passionate. He was a vicious fighter—Ritsuka could see that earlier when he was fighting Saber—yet he was also calculating, a master tactician. There was a rawness about him, like an open wound, but it was closed off with so many layers that it nearly become impossible to tell. He was like a snowstorm, yet there was a single fire kindled somewhere inside his heart. Of that, Ritsuka had never been so certain.

“I am done, so I will go outside and accompany Saber,” the paradox of a knight said, pushing away his eating utensils and stood up. “Master, call me if something is happening.”

With that, he disappeared out of the door, and Ritsuka could only shake his head.

* * *

Saber dreams.

In his dream, everything was perfect, though falling apart at the seams. In his dream, everything was perfect, and his king— his king were the epitome of perfection.

Until the last battle.

He still remembered the way it _reeks_ —sweat and blood and guts and lord knows what else—and the way the sky looked, serene, as if watching over the carnage with playful oblivion. It was sunset—the sky bloodied and bruised—when he and his king slowly dragged themselves to the forest, side by side.

Saber dreams.

In his dream, his king was forever young, untouched by the ravages of age. In his dream, he smiled, and all is right with the world.

He opened his eyes abruptly, forcibly ejecting himself from the train of thought. 

“How long have you been standing there?” He said, to the helmeted Servant—this time without his horse or lance—wariness making its way to the folds of his voice. 

The other Servant remained silent for an unnerving amount of time.

“As long as necessary,” the silver-armoured knight responded, cryptically, without doubt observing him.

Another silence, as Saber straightened himself, assessing the other party. How he felt when he first saw him—a terrible, godlike view—still haunted him, the dregs of the bewilderment, the yearning, and the pity he felt tried to drag him to the bottom. 

Mostly, it was pity. He doesn’t really know why. If it was his fault, shouldn’t he felt pity towards himself? But this was different, he told himself. This was not his king.

“I suppose the dinner was nice,” Saber said, with a small smile, trying to start a conversation with the barely-human Servant.

“It was fine,” he answered, stiffly.

More silence interjected their conversation, but Saber has never been afraid of silence. He turned his gaze to the sky, trying to find out familiar constellations. How different this era was.

“You know me, don’t you?” The question was quick and merciless, and Saber did not see it coming. He was surprised, and it shows in his expression—but he quickly hid it. He knows that the other knight missed nothing, but he still hoped—however futile—that he didn’t see it.

“No,” Saber told Lancer, quietly, under the unfamiliar night sky, avoiding his gaze. “I didn’t know you at all.”

“…I see,” Lancer responded, his tone perfectly flat, betraying nothing. “Then, if I may inquire, why do you look so surprised during our battle?”

“You merely reminded me of someone,” Saber said, giving him a tentative smile. “Someone I know well, but in the end, I didn’t know if I know him at all.”

“You are a knight haunted by your past,” Lancer observed, unmoving. Saber felt a pang of pain in his heart, something that he felt ever since he first saw Lancer in this War. 

“Oh, my Master is departing,” he told him, seeing Ritsuka opening the front door and Mash following suit. “I suppose our escort is necessary.”

“Yes,” Lancer said, dryly, “that fool Master of mine would not last a minute without my presence.”

“Ah, don’t be so pessimistic,” Saber teases him, as they observed their Masters putting on shoes and making their way towards them. “You’ll end up being fond of him, I’m sure. He has a good heart, I can sense it.”

Lancer looked at him blankly, and Saber could sense his gaze from underneath his helmet. “A good heart alone does not make for a good warrior.”

“And what about you?” Saber couldn’t help it, in the few last moments before their Masters reached their position at the gate. “Are you a good warrior, Lancer?”

“That remains a fact. I am peerless in combat, as you’ve seen earlier, Saber.”

_But what I mean is something else_ , Saber thought, though he merely smiles to himself. 

“Come,” Lancer said, as his Master neared, “let’s get this over with.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A wild Berserker appears in the night. Ritsuka and Mash is forced to be on the defensive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I'm still following and rewriting scenes of UBW...I'm wondering which I should write next. I definitely would like Ritsuka and Arthur to spend more time with each other, so I might take some liberties soon. 
> 
> Onwards!

The moonlight casts an otherworldly pallor on the world. Streetlights lit the way dimly, uncaring, dead soldiers on their midnight vigil. Saber is scouting ahead of them, and Lancer keeps the rear watch.

Ritsuka had tried to “normalise” him earlier, also known as “trying to get him to put on some human clothes”, which Mash agreed with, enthusiastically, but one single glance from him and they both suddenly rethink their lives. Besides—he said, raising a valid point that no one could debate—no one bothers Saber, so why should he?

At least they got him off his horse. Ritsuka managed to convince him that it would be strange for a man in full-body armour on a horse to walk around in the city past midnight, with a certain emphasise on the city, although he gave off something that sounds like an irritated noise and storms off. He was definitely a handful to deal with, Ritsuka noted.

“Thank you again for this, senpai,” Mash said, shyly, walking alongside Ritsuka, “you don’t have to do this, you know. I’m fully capable of protecting myself.”

“I’m sure that, if Saber could hear you, he would have agreed with me,” Ritsuka told her, not unkindly, “so don’t mention it, Mash.”

Mash stopped for a moment, red colouring her pale cheeks. She bowed, deeply, once, and Ritsuka couldn’t help but blush, too. 

“Really, senpai, thank you…!” 

“I—“ Ritsuka said, about to say something although he felt too embarrassed suddenly for some reason, but Saber’s disembodied voice cuts him off.

“There’s something up front. Stay back, Master, Ritsuka.”

“Lancer—“ Ritsuka started, turning slightly to command his Servant, but he’s already galloping off to war. Despite what Saber said, Ritsuka hurried to catch up with them.

“Wait, senpai!” Mash exclaimed, following suit.

What awaits them further ahead is a strange view. Saber and Lancer had blocked the path—the latter had summoned both his mount and his lance—but a large, humanoid creature was still very obviously visible. In fact, it— _he?_ —would be visible from miles away, huge and imposing as he was, fierce-looking, with long black hair streaming behind him, holding what Ritsuka thought to be a humongous sword. His eyes—oh gods, _his eyes_ —his eyes were just as fierce as the rest of him, and though madness—Ritsuka conjectures it as such—has clouded them, there is still a shred of intelligence in them. 

“I see you both have summoned proper Servants,” a lilting, singsong voice said, from beside the creature, “that means we can play together.”

It originated from a small, faelike girl, just as unearthly as the moon in her pallor, and just as mysterious in her countenance. Her hair is, in fact, the colour of moonlight, and she was dressed in a deep purple blouse and a white skirt, offsetting her red eyes and her pale hair. 

She was, Ritsuka immediately knows through his new vision, the Master of the creature.

“It’s Berserker,” Mash gasped, looking at Ritsuka, sounding just as surprised as she looked. “Senpai, we are in trouble.”

“Do you think so? How fun!” The seemingly-young girl exclaimed, smiling. “However, I’m not interested in your third-rate Servant, Kyrielight.”

“Saber can defeat your Berserker,” Mash told her, after a moment of surprise, out of confidence rather than arrogance, “I believe in him.”

“Boring,” the girl said, faking a yawn. She completely ignores Mash’s fervour—no, Mash in general, Ritsuka noticed. As if reading his mind, at that moment, she shifted her unnatural gaze towards him. “But I want to play with you, brother…”

_Brother?_ Ritsuka thought, feeling unnerved by this turn of events. He doesn’t remember his father ever mentioned him having a sister—even if he was indeed adopted—especially one so unnatural as this one. No, not unnatural, he quickly corrected himself. Just… _different_.

“Get back, senpai. Saber can hold him off. You go with Lancer,” Mash’s voice breaks through his train of thought, suddenly bold and resolute. “I’ll face her.”

“No,” Ritsuka quickly retorted, “ _you_ go with Saber. I- we’ll hold them off. Please, Mash.”

Mash’s cheeks turned red again, but that could be a trick of the moonlight. Ritsuka quickly looked away, locking his gaze with the strange girl’s, who smiled and smiled.

“If you are finished discussing your strategy,” she said, cutting off whatever further discussion they may have, “then we can start. Berserker, attack them. Show no mercy.”

“You-“ Ritsuka said, narrowing his eyes, but the thing—the titan—had started moving, moving towards him, and he could hear Mash shouting, but it sounded so far off—

The next moment he knew, he was being carried bridal-style by his Servant atop his horse, the wind whooshing all around them. Lancer was dodging Berserker’s seemingly ceaseless attacks, Ritsuka knows, but somehow, it all doesn’t connect just yet. 

“You’re quite a troublesome one, Master,” Lancer said, looking down at him, when they finally had a moment to spare. It surprised Ritsuka how quickly he’d gotten used to that inhuman helmet, especially in light of Berserker’s appearance. “Now, should I put you down and leave you to that creature, or do you have any other commands?”

Ritsuka narrowed his eyes. “Let’s fight the creature—“

Another attack occurs, and Lancer blocked it effortlessly with his lance. Ritsuka was surprised at how strong it was, despite the fact that it looked as if it was made from glass, or a glass-like substance. 

“You mean _I_ fight the creature, while you scurry off to safe place with the girl,” he said. “Saber and I will defeat him. We don’t need your help.”

Despite the situation, despite the fact that he was right on all counts, Ritsuka still couldn’t help but felt a pang of pain in his heart. Even if they’ve only beginning to know each other, and even if they got off on the wrong foot, even if he was thrusted into this…bloody ritual against his own will…Ritsuka still felt concern for Lancer. 

They dodged yet another attack, and Ritsuka knows that they can’t keep doing this forever. 

“Put me down,” he finally commanded, trying to hide the blush that was forming in his cheeks, since he’d finally realised how physically _close_ he was with Lancer, “put me down, Lancer. I’m just slowing you down.”

“Thank the Lord,” Lancer said, in his characteristic dry tone, jumping to dodge another attack and speeding away to a relatively safe place. “You finally realise how useless you are in this fight. Master.”

“…put me down and I’ll fight him too. No, I’ll take on the girl.” He said, resolutely. He didn’t know where that girl and Mash had run off to, but he naturally assumed that Mash are chasing the girl, while Saber was attacking Berserker, who was attacking them. 

“…absolutely not,” Lancer said after a moment of silence, a moment that was ruined by the appearance of the titanic Berserker behind them in the forest. “You are going to get killed. I am _not_ going to put you down, in that case.”

“But I _am_ slowing you down, right?” Ritsuka insisted. “Do as I say, Lancer. Do as I say, and hold off Berserker.”

It is apparent that Lancer is on the verge of frustration—as he was holding off Berserker at bay while trying to convince Ritsuka to stay out of the fight—but Ritsuka couldn’t find it in him to care. No, he did care, but he cared more about saving them all.

He cared more about all of them being safe and unhurt.

“I’ll use a Command Spell—“ he said, raising his hand again, but Lancer suddenly stopped moving, and he was being unloaded roughly. 

“You don’t need to.” Lancer told him, coldly. “But if you are in any way killed…it is not my responsibility anymore. And I will never forgive you,” he quickly added. “Call me if you need me, Master.” 

And with that, he disappeared into the sea of trees, a gleaming dream in a nightmare. Ritsuka was alone with the winter moon.

* * *

“You are careless, Master,” Lancer said, his helmet off, jade green eyes narrowed towards Ritsuka. “Careless, stupid, and idiotic. What a marvellous combination.”

Ritsuka couldn’t really say anything while he was being scolded like that, because he secretly admitted that his Servant was right. After all, he did jump to the battlefield to pull Lancer—who was briefly thrown off his horse by Berserker’s attack—into the relative safety of his side. Everything turned to hell after that, and Ritsuka nearly lost his life for the fourth time that night. Actually, he’d lost count of how many times he nearly died that night.

In fact, he’d died once, earlier, at school.

It was impossible, but it was what happened.

“…I know,” Ritsuka said, after a certain amount of silence, not meeting his gaze. “Can we save the rest of this for later after we regroup with Mash and Saber, please?” He raised his gaze, and, to his surprise, Lancer looked surprised, as well. Ritsuka was…well, he was taken aback by the look. Somehow, he thought, somehow it suited him. It suited him more than the cold expression that he was usually wearing. “Let’s go find them first.”

“…confirming Berserker’s disappearance,” he finally said, looking away. “No other unusual lifeforms detected. He had disappeared with his Master.”

“Speak human, please,” Ritsuka told him, couldn’t help but tease him a little for all his seriousness. Despite his apparent cold demeanour, and all his seriousness, Ritsuka is now certain that the knight whom the Grail had chosen for him—according to Mash’s brief info—had a good heart. 

“W- what?” He said, looking as confused as ever, and Ritsuka could have sworn that he’d never looked half as handsome, framed by the dappled moonlight and the trees. He felt himself blush at the stray thought, especially when he caught him looking at him quite intensely, and quickly looked away. He knew Lancer did the same.

“Should we start walking now? Mash must be worried sick,” Ritsuka quickly said, lightly, shrugging it off. Lancer was still avoiding his gaze.

“Not to worry,” he proclaimed, “Llamrei is fast. We will find them in no time.”

“Nah, let’s just walk.” Ritsuka told him, with an unmistakable smile. 

“Why?” Lancer asked, gaze finally meeting his. His surprise was profound, that much is clear. But Ritsuka wondered about why is he so surprised about a lot of things, like the handshake, for example. It was as if…it was as if basic human kindness was a strange concept to him. 

Ritsuka renewed his smile, burying the desire to gently touch his hand.

“No reason. I just wanted to walk,” he said, but he partially lied.

_I wanted to walk with you_ , is what was left unsaid. He already turned away, but he managed to steal a glance, and this time, he was certain Lancer is blushing.

That was maybe for the best, he thought, humming to himself. They _are_ getting along.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ritsuka and Lancer learn how to get along, and to trust and respect each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot that it's winter so the trees wouldn't have any foliage, oops. Four seasons are so strange. Sorry about that minor mistake. Anyway, this is where the story (probably) diverges from UBW.
> 
> Alright, enjoy!

The forest would have been beautiful in the daylight, although the trees have shed their skins, but Ritsuka imagined that, in the spring and summertime, they would be ruffled slightly by the breeze when the sun was high in the sky, murmuring a song that only forest creatures can hear. 

In the night, though, it is full of moonlight and treachery, and Ritsuka stumbled a couple of times. Lancer scowled whenever he did that, and would gingerly offer his help, but Ritsuka would smile and brush him off, and he would suddenly forget how to react. 

After a while, though, it would seem as though they were either going in circles, or going deeper into the woods, because the outline of a building could be seen in a distance, its spires a testament of mankind’s severance from the gods. 

“Master,” Lancer said, stopping just a little distance away from him. “With all due respect, I think we may be walking into danger. We should turn back now while we can.”

“Do you think so?” Ritsuka said, and frowned. “What if Mash is in there?”

Lancer walked in front of him, scanning their surroundings. “No, I don’t detect her presence or that of Saber’s. We should turn back.”

There was silence as Ritsuka considered this, but in the end, he shrugged. “Alright. I trusted your judgement. Let’s go back.”

At this, Lancer looked surprised once more. Ritsuka couldn’t help but smiled a bit at the look, but quickly restrained himself. “That was quick. I wasn’t expecting you to agree with me immediately.”

“Well,” Ritsuka said, turning back, gesturing at him to follow him, and Lancer did, though hesitantly at first, casting wary looks towards the building— _castle_ —they are now leaving behind, “we have to learn to trust each other, don’t we? That’s what Mash said.”

They walked in silence for a while, Lancer’s heavy footsteps following him, and suddenly it stops. Ritsuka stops, too, both out of wariness and instinct. 

“But is that what you believe?”

Ritsuka didn’t expect this question, but he turned slightly to face the other. “Yes. I believe we should learn to trust each other.”

A quietness filled the space between them, the thoughtful kind, and Ritsuka could see that the other, older man is indeed deep in thought. 

“You may win my respect yet, Ritsuka Fujimaru,” he said, quietly, and started walking alongside him.

Ritsuka smiled, but he had a feeling their trials aren’t over yet.

* * *

It was quite a hard road back to civilisation, and again, Ritsuka stumbles here and there and falls down once, and Lancer again offered that they went on horseback, but he refused.

Ritsuka doesn’t ask him questions about his past. He had made it quite clear, with the fact that he wouldn’t divulge his True Name, that he would rather not talk about it. Logical reasons aside, Ritsuka could sense that there are also emotional and personal reasons mixed in there. 

They were conversing lightly—as lightly as they could, in any case—when Lancer tensed, and Ritsuka could hear the creak from underneath his feet, but the next moment he was pulled to Lancer’s side.

“This far, and we’ve stumbled upon a trap?” He said, sarcastically. “How archaic and surprising. I suppose the owner of the castle is really an old-fashioned one.”

“A trap?” Ritsuka echoed, and looked behind him, to discover that there was a gaping cliff behind him, black and unyielding, and he was only a step forward from it. 

“Yes. It was an illusion. I apologise, Master,” Lancer said, formally, pulling him even further away from the cliff. “I had been distracted.”

“It’s okay,” Ritsuka said, letting Lancer led him away from the cliff, feeling quite lightheaded. Really, how many times did he almost die tonight? There were so many events, his head had now finally started spinning. The red Servant who tried to kill him, not only once—and he succeeded the first time—but thrice. The sudden Summoning. The Holy Grail War. Saber and Berserker. There were just so many things.

“Master, are you…okay? You don’t look quite so well,” Lancer observed, and Ritsuka felt his face go red. 

“No, I’m fine. Please, don’t worry about me, Lancer,” he told him, trying to give him a reassuring smile. “Thank you for saving me…again.”

“Ah,” it was Lancer turn’s to blush, though he tried very hard to hide it, “no need to thank me. It was my duty as a knight.”

“Um…I know,” Ritsuka said, smiling, feeling the warmth of his hand through the gloves, wondering how it would feel, holding his hand without them on, “but thank you anyway.”

Lancer finally realised that he was still holding Ritsuka’s hand, and quickly lets it go. Ritsuka felt just a tiny bit of disappointment, but mostly embarrassment. 

“I- I’m sorry,” Lancer stuttered, uncharacteristically, “i- it wasn’t polite of me to do…that. Forgive my impudence, Master.”

To his surprise, Lancer bows lightly, chivalrous to a fault. Even then, he was as regal as a lion, or a king—Ritsuka had his suspicions about him—and his blue robe that he wore underneath his armour swept the ground behind him gracefully.

Ritsuka was at a loss of words. Lancer’s gaze, when they finally met his, was determined.

“I hope that you would accept my apology. And,” he added, straightening himself up, “let’s hasten our pace with my trusted mount. We have alerted the owner of the trap of our presence. It is a possibility that Berserker and his Master would attack again.”

“I don’t quite agree with that assessment,” Ritsuka told him, frowning lightly. Lancer’s gaze, though, were as fierce as a thunderstorm, and he quickly added. “I mean…they do need to conserve mana, don’t they? But if there are more traps such as this…I suppose we _can_ go on horseback.”

“A sound judgement,” Lancer agreed, dryly, as if saying _where were you all this time?_ But he did take a few steps away from Ritsuka, and his white, armoured horse appeared in golden dust. He quickly mounted it in one graceful move. Ritsuka couldn’t help but stare in awe, and doesn’t realise that his Servant had offered an arm to help him up. 

“Well?” His voice broke through his train of thought. “Are we going or not?”

“Y- yes,” Ritsuka told him, thinking that, just that quick, Lancer was back to his cold front. “Sorry.” 

He took his hand and let his Servant helped him up behind him, and he noted that Lancer didn’t hold his hand for more than necessary, this time. The forest seemed to hold its breath.

“Hold on tight,” Lancer warned. “This isn’t going to be an easy ride.”

* * *

The long night passes. The next day, Ritsuka woke up and couldn’t find Lancer anywhere.The previous night, he insisted that he should stay close to him in order to prevent any further attacks, in case Berserker or the red Servant comes after him again. Ritsuka tried to turn him down, but it was very hard to argue with him, especially considering the fact that he was right at all counts. 

Ritsuka worried that the other didn’t get enough sleep. From what he’d gathered, Servants doesn’t actually need to sleep, but since Lancer couldn’t switch to a spiritual form—because of him—then the need arises. He wanted to make him breakfast, too, not just because it’s what he does, but also as a thank you gesture for last night.

Could he be in the dōjo? Ritsuka wondered. He rarely used the place ever since his father passed away, but it is a good place to get some solitude, and perhaps some practise. He doesn’t know if Lancer could use a sword, though, but he had his own reason to believe that it might be the case.

With this in mind, he made his way to the dōjo, after putting on some clothes and reflecting a bit on last night’s events. They had regrouped with Mash afterwards, exchanging some intel—Mash identified the girl as Illyasviel von Einzbern, a member of the supposedly prestigious mage family Einzbern (though the name doesn’t ring any bell for Ritsuka, obviously), and she almost killed her when they duelled, something that very much concerned Ritsuka—and then parted ways from there. Ritsuka had insisted to escort her all the way, but Saber convinced him that he was the man for the job, and that he should go home to get some rest.

“There you are,” he called out, closing the door behind him and taking off his shoes. “I was going to make breakfast.”

The man in question looked as if he was meditating, with his eyes closed, sitting in the side with his legs folded. 

“Oh,” Ritsuka exclaimed, as he looked at him. Lancer was wearing the clothes he picked for him last night—a black, sleeveless vest over a white, button-up shirt, combined with matching black trousers—and he was quite surprised it fits so well. “You did change your clothes.”

“Only because it is easier to move around in these when I am not in battle,” he said, opening his jade green eyes. “I don’t need breakfast.”

“Don’t need to or don’t want to?” Ritsuka tilted his head, curious. The other returned his inquiring, playful look with a flat one. “Those are two different things, you know.”

“You don’t really use this place any longer,” he remarked, brushing Ritsuka’s words aside. “Why?”

“Well…” Ritsuka trailed off, running a finger through his black hair. “It’s a long story. I’ll tell you about it sometime. For now, let’s have breakfast. I insist. It’s the least I could do for last night.”

He was expecting a reaction similar to what he experienced last night whenever he offered Lancer basic human kindness, but this time, the older man didn’t take the bait. He didn’t even move from his seat. 

“I am your Servant,” he stated, flatly, “that’s the least _I_ could do, Master. It is my job and duty to serve and protect you. Your will shapes my body, and my sword shall shape your fate. If you recited the incantation, you would know.”

He said it matter-of-factly, not sarcastically, this time around. Ritsuka considered that a development. Though, he did seem a little subdued, somewhat—perhaps it was the solemn air of the dōjo. Or perhaps it was the effect the clothes had upon him. He seemed more…human, somehow. More approachable. Unlike the armoured knight that he met last night in the Summoning circle in his storage. 

“Speaking of swords…” Ritsuka smiled, taking the nearest wooden one, “I’m curious, can you use one?”

“Of course,” he swiftly said, looking at him as though he’d somehow insulted him. “Every good knight started with a sword. I used to had one—“ he quickly stopped himself and looked away, for some reason. “Forget it. If you wanted to test my knowledge and skill, Master, I am more than ready for the challenge.”

He rose from his seat, smiling slightly. Ritsuka could sense a little bit of arrogance in his smile, but it was mostly confidence. This is a charismatic man, even in a humble dōjo such as this one.

“Actually, I was hoping that you can teach me,” Ritsuka told him, grabbing another one and offering it to Lancer. “Last night’s events had…well, it got me thinking.”

Lancer accepted the sword, without hesitation. “About what, Master?”

“I didn’t want you all to get hurt, and…well, I…I couldn’t really do anything about it. The only magic I could do are probably magic tricks compared to what Mash and Illyasviel could do. So I should probably learn how to fight,” he added, with a thin smile, “I watched you and Saber last night. It was amazing.”

“Tch. I could do better than Saber,” the other man said, swishing the sword around. He was obviously trying to get a heft and feeling of the thing. There was something like a pang of yearning in his eyes, of something missing, but it could be a trick of the light. Ritsuka blinked. “Yes. I accept your proposal. I should teach you the art of swordplay.”

“It’s a deal then,” Ritsuka told him, with a smile. 

“Of course,” Lancer nodded, shifting his stance to that of a fighter’s. “First, what do you believe in?”

The question surprised him, too, but he mimicked Lancer’s stance and gets himself ready. 

“I believe in hope,” he answered, seriously, although he couldn’t help but give the other a thin smile.

In a world of despair, hope is a rare currency. He could see that Lancer was taken aback by his answer, but his grim, serious look doesn’t waver.

“I see. I can’t tell you yet if you’re a worthy opponent or not, but get ready.”

And Ritsuka did steel himself for the blow that was about to come.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ritsuka delivers lunch to Mash and Taiga, and Lancer tagged along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, I'm sorry this is going a bit slow. I want to skip to the bit with Caster to be quick but first I gotta do some groundwork first. Also, I always find Shirou's "pretend you don't understand Japanese" to Saber funny (I'm cheap in terms of humour, I know)...
> 
> Merry Christmas!

“Why won’t you let me come with you?”

Lancer demanded, as Ritsuka puts on his shoes before the door. It was a Sunday, obviously another day off, but he had to deliver lunch to Mash and his guardian, landlady _and_ homeroom teacher, Taiga-sensei. Earlier, the latter had gave him a call, hinting that it would be nice if Ritsuka could bring some lunch for her and Mash at school.

And Ritsuka, well…not only that he couldn’t refuse, but he also wanted to take a walk after the events of Friday night, especially since the weather channel told him that it’s going to be a clear winter day.

Lancer, however, seemed to disagree.

“Master—“ he started, before clenching his jaw with an obviously determined look on his face. “It’s dangerous. Berserker or another Servant could attack you again, and this time around, neither I nor Saber would be around to come to your aid.”

“It would be fine, Lancer, don’t worry about me,” Ritsuka told him, brushing off what he said with a wave of his hand. “This is broad daylight. Berserker—Illyasviel—won’t attack me like that again. And,” he added, when the older man was about to doubt him, “there’s going to be some people at school. The Holy Grail War is supposed to be a secret, right?”

“Yes,” Lancer said, sceptically, “but what makes you so sure that they are not going to attack you on the way there, Master? Or what if the red Servant makes another appearance? If any of their Masters—including Illyasviel—is alright with killing off witnesses, then you’re doomed. Let me come with you, Master. I promise— well,” he looked away, embarrassed in a characteristic Lancer way, “I promise I wouldn’t be any trouble.”

Ritsuka mulled about this for a moment. He could definitely see Lancer’s point. Actually, it was ridiculous—the only reason why he doesn’t want to bring Lancer with him is because the other man would garner a lot of attention. It isn’t that he was jealous, no, but…Ritsuka doesn’t want to attract any more attention than necessary. 

Still, he wavered in his decision, and that most likely makes its way into his expression, because Lancer already looks triumphant. 

“I’ll get a coat,” he said, and Ritsuka couldn’t say no.

* * *

“…just pretend that you don’t understand Japanese, alright?” Ritsuka told his Servant, when they were nearing his school. 

The winter day is indeed clear, and the sky is a pretty pale blue shade, like a dream Ritsuka half-remembered from the night before. Perhaps it was just his own impression, but it felt like Lancer is more cheerful than he was inside the house, where he was more subdued and twice as distant as he was after his summoning, and even more so after their lesson in the dōjo yesterday morning. Ritsuka had tried to cheer him up and even impress him by putting on various shows on the telly, including quiz shows that he normally watched whenever he felt the need to be amused by something, but it doesn’t work. The older man was frowning and even flat-out refused to “watch dumb shows on the TV”. 

But now, as they walked to school, he looked quite content, a little on the cheerful side, even—as cheerful as he could look—watching the sky and the houses they passed by on the way. A Heroic Spirit would have been summoned to different eras, Mash told him two nights ago. Ritsuka wondered how different this era was from the ones that Lancer had visited before.

“Just smile and nod if someone talks to you, and…well,” Ritsuka continued, seeing as there is no response from the other party, “let me handle things.”

“As you say, Master.” He agreed quite quickly, and Ritsuka was relieved. “I am not interested in talking to your friends, so don’t worry about it.”

This time his aloofness worked in Ritsuka’s favour, so he nodded vigorously. “Yes. Just pretend that you are uninterested, or whatever you usually do. And one more thing…”

“Yes?” 

“Don’t call me ‘Master’ in front of other people. It will raise questions and I can’t quite forge an explanation,” Ritsuka made a face, “just call me by my name.”

“Ah…so you want me to call you…” he trailed off for a moment, and then tried his name on his tongue like it was an exotic novelty, although his pronounciation, like his language skills, are perfect (Lancer had explained that they were sent forth to the world equipped with the necessary knowledge of the era and the world, so they are not like newborn babies). “Ritsuka?”

It was so good in some way, as if knowing that his name is also safe with him, that Ritsuka immediately perked up and smile. “Yes! That would be perfect.”

For a moment, Lancer looked as if he wanted to debate him—he probably thinks it’s impolite since he’s Ritsuka’s Servant and all that, as he said—but he let it go, and simply nodded. 

“Alright,” he said. “Ritsuka.” 

At that moment, they arrived at school, so there’s no room for further discussion. The school gates are open—after all, students had club activities on the weekends, despite the various odd things that has been happening—and Ritsuka entered, followed closely by Lancer, who casts a glance around.

“Wait outside, okay?” He whispered to him when they approached the archery club. 

Lancer nodded, and Ritsuka went inside. Mitsuzuri Ayako, a fellow senior, greeted him.

* * *

There was nothing strange about the school…at first glance.

When he focused his mind on it, there was indeed something odd, something sacrilegious and unnatural, but hovering on the line between reality and something else, like a thin, thin line. 

He doesn’t like the smell of the school. His instincts told him that it was all wrong.

“Hey,” someone calls him, no, _addresses_ him, a female voice, curiosity mingling with something else. Lancer buried his hands within his coat pockets, and shifted his gaze temporarily to the girl.

She was an ordinary girl, unremarkable by any standards, although there was a charisma about her, the charisma of a leader. Perhaps she was the leader of the club? 

Either way, Lancer was plainly uninterested in holding a conversation with her, and besides, his Master had explicitly instructed him to not talk to the people in the school. Lancer looked her over for a second.

“You’re…Fujimaru-san’s friend, aren’t you? What’s your name? I’m Mitsuzuri,” she said, and Lancer understood her perfectly, “Mitsuzuri Ayako.”

Lancer just shrugged, turning the other way. She gets in the way of him assessing the school and the dangers it might bring. 

The girl—Ayako—frowned, but she is a persistent one. “That might be considered rude, but perhaps you don’t understand Japanese?” She pointed to herself, slowing down her speech as if she was speaking to a baby. “A-ya-ko.”

Lancer stared at her in disbelief. Of course, his Master had instructed him to act like…well, like he was a foreigner with no knowledge of Japanese, but this is…something. He nearly opened his mouth to answer, but thankfully, he could hear his Master’s voice.

“Mitsuzuri!” Ritsuka exclaimed, and Lancer could see that he was making his way towards them. “Please don’t mind him. He, ah, he doesn’t understand Japanese…”

Ritsuka’s voice becomes background chatter as he detected something strange afoot. Following his instincts, Lancer moved away from the archery club, detaching himself from his Master and the gaggle of girls who are now staring at him. 

“Hey!” Ritsuka shouted, trying to catch up with him, but Lancer was walking fast, following where his foot was carrying him, going inside the main building, and then up some stairs—

He heard noises up ahead, and he followed it, only stopping when he felt that his Master was grabbing his arm.

“ _Lancer_ ,” Ritsuka started, and although he was still entranced, Lancer couldn’t help but turn slightly towards his Master, who was staring at him with disbelief and concern, “I should have told you not to walk around on your own in the school grounds, too.”

Following his silence—although the noises from the room up ahead doesn’t stop—Ritsuka continues. 

“What is it?” He asked, concern written all over his face. He knows what he’s going to ask.

The door of the room up ahead opens, disgorging a middle-aged man with spectacles and a serious look. 

“Oh, Kuzuki-sensei,” his Master remarked, letting go of his arm and bowing slightly. 

The man locked eyes with him, and for a moment, the feeling returned—the feeling of a thin, thin line and treacherous moonlight and a far, far away ocean—but it was gone in a flash. They merely locked eyes as two strangers, then.

“Fujimaru,” the man said, his tone cold and precise, “you _are_ aware that we allow no strangers on the school grounds, right? And,” he added, gesturing towards Lancer’s boots, “that kind of outside wear aren’t allowed, either.”

“O- oh, I apologise about that, sensei…” his Master said, but Lancer tuned it out, focusing on the man called Kuzuki. There was indeed something strange about him, something off, like the entire school. But he couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was.

And then the exchange was over, as the teacher walks away.

“Lancer,” Ritsuka started, after silence passes between them briefly, “you okay?”

“Master,” he asked him, his mind racing, “what kind of teacher is that man?”

“Well…” Ritsuka said, bringing a hand under his chin. “He is strict, I suppose, but the students liked him. He gave us no particular trouble. Why did you ask?”

“Nothing,” Lancer told him, tucking aside all the feelings of the thin, thin line and the treacherous moonlight and the far, far away ocean. “Where are we going after this, Master?”

“The rooftop’s nice,” his Master said, running a finger through his hair. “And we still got some time to burn before Mash is done with archery practise. Do you…do you want to go to the rooftop?” He asked, and there was a certain shyness about it, a certain boyishness that made Lancer’s heart race, even if only for a second.

An impossible second, in any case. He was close of becoming a Divine Spirit, after a decade of holding the sacred lance. Another boy’s shy, friendly offer shouldn’t set his heart racing, especially a boy who’s barely a man, a mage who’s barely a Master. 

“I prepared lunch for both of us, too,” his Master added, with an equally shy smile. “We can eat lunch there, if you want.”

“Yes,” he simply nodded, casting aside all thoughts of his Master as something that he could laid his eyes and fingers on, not a human that he merely had to serve in this particular War. How naïve, he thought, if only he was a proper Master. “If that’s what you wished, Master.”

His response seems to have disappointed Ritsuka, but he was quick to disguise it. Lancer pretends to not notice it. It was easier that way. 

“Then let’s go,” he said, considerably more subdued, “it’s this way."

* * *

The walk home is filled with silent questions. Ritsuka even sensed that Mash, an insider in this case, had her own questions, whether regarding Lancer, or other things. But they all walked in silence halfway through—Lancer takes the rear, still observing their surroundings, while they—he, Mash, and Taiga-sensei—walked in a cluster. 

The sun is hanging low in the sky, and the silence makes Ritsuka feels tense, weird. He just hoped that, whatever questions they’ve had, they would just get it over already.

“Say…” Taiga-sensei opened, and Ritsuka, although feeling himself immediately tensed in anticipation of the weird questions that would definitely come, felt kind of grateful that she started. “Ritsu-chan, who is your handsome friend? I wanted to ask earlier, but you ran off after him before I could say anything,” she frowned. 

_Handsome?_ Ritsuka thought, making a face instinctively. “W- well, he is a son of my father’s friend…he’s looking for my father, but he…you know.”

“Ah,’ Taiga-sensei exclaimed, with understanding but mostly with deepening curiosity. Ritsuka doesn’t really like the latter. “The son of your father’s friend, you say? Well, this is new! He never mentioned to me about such a thing!”

Ritsuka tried to compose a suitable answer, but gone were Taiga-sensei, already poking Lancer, both literally and figuratively.

“Hey, hey,” she said, smiling, “you’re Ritsu-chan’s friend, right? I’m Fujimura Taiga! I know our surnames sound similar, but I swear I’m his guardian! You’re looking for his father?”

“T- Taiga-sensei,” Mash stepped in to the rescue, thankfully, and Ritsuka breathed a sigh of relief, “I- I don’t think he understands Japanese.”

“Well, not a lot,” Ritsuka added, couldn’t help but feeling more than a little amused as he watched Taiga smiling beside him while Lancer is frowning deeply and looking the other way. “He’s still learning. But I don’t wanna…well, I don’t wanna tell that to Ayako and the others. It’d cause trouble. And, by the way,” he quickly added, before any of them could say anything else, “he’s going to stay with me for a while.”

“You mean stay with _us_?” Taiga-sensei is positively glowing now, her eyes sparkling in the late afternoon sunlight. “Oooooh! That’s nice, that’s really really really nice!”

“Taiga-sensei, I don’t think you should be poking Lancer too much…” Mash said, sighing.

“Lancer? Is that his name? It’s nice to meet you, Lancer-saaaan!” She exclaimed now, _absolutely_ glowing. Ritsuka and Mash exchanged a look, and Ritsuka let out a long sigh.

“Yes, that’s his name. I hope you two will get along well while he’s here,” Ritsuka said, although it was probably pointless, seeing how intently Taiga was staring at Lancer while Lancer was glaring daggers at her. 

“A- ah, senpai,” Mash, the saviour, immediately switched the topic to another that Taiga likes: food. “What are you going to cook tonight?”

The conversation continued until they reached his house, and Ritsuka had never felt happier nor more content, and, thankfully, nothing out of the ordinary happened.

* * *

“What do you mean I couldn’t go with you?” 

This time Lancer demanded with a frown. Ritsuka checks the clock, he only had a few minutes left until he was supposed to meet up with Mash at the usual intersection on the way to school. This morning, Lancer had disappeared immediately after breakfast, and showed up with outdoor clothing afterwards. He had followed Ritsuka to the door silently, until Ritsuka told him that he couldn’t come with him.

“Master, it wouldn’t be safe. I thought I told you yesterday. What if another Master attacks you while you were at school?” He said, looking as resolute as ever. Ritsuka finds it hard to argue with him—and he had to admit a part of him loathes the thought of leaving him here, alone, at home—but he had to, for the sake of himself.

“You see—“ he touched the back of his neck nervously. Mash would already be at the intersection now, waiting for him to show up. “As Kuzuki-sensei told us yesterday, outsiders aren’t allowed at school. And besides…you’re a little too old to pass as a transfer student.”

“I could wait outside the gates,” Lancer said, with a huff that puzzled Ritsuka. Since when did he get this protective? Well, he had always had a streak of protectiveness ever since he accidentally summoned him, but it wasn’t like this before. He had been…well, not so transparent about his protectiveness. “I told you, I wouldn’t cause any trouble, would I?’’

“That’s true. But Lancer…” Ritsuka moves forward instinctively, touching his arm. “I want you to be safe, too. And nothing bad will happen to me, trust me. I have Mash with me too. Please.”

There was doubt in his green eyes, and something else, something that Ritsuka could yet to identify, but he quickly looked away before Ritsuka could pinpoint it. He took a step back.

“Fine. If that’s what you wish, Master,” he responded, retreating back to his shell, and Ritsuka felt the pang of disappointment that he felt yesterday—the disappointment that he felt when he responded to his offer to eat lunch together in the rooftop formally—returned with a vengeance. He was grateful that their gazes didn’t meet.

“In that case, I should be on my way now,” Ritsuka told him, retreating to his own shell, too. “Please, take care, and—“

“Call me with a Command Spell should anything occurs,” Lancer cuts him off, his gaze as piercing as his words. “Now go, Master. You are disturbing my morning practise.”

Ritsuka turned and closed the door behind him, hearing the footsteps of the other man stalking off—he doesn't even wait for him to be off—and though he tried to turn his mind to the day ahead, he could feel his heart breaking a little. 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Bounded Field appeared at school, while Ritsuka and Mash are besieged by unearthly creatures.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I have to speed things up for a bit, so I'm sorry for Medusa fans. Welp. We're gonna be at the end of season 1 soon, I promise. Hopefully work didn't turn me into a Berserker first. 
> 
> Enjoy!

He felt it before it happened.

It was like a storm looming on the horizon, or the accidental summoning he performed that one, fateful night. There was an invisible charge in the air, a subtle malice that couldn’t be put into words. 

He’d spent the days before discovering—and sealing—certain sigils that consisted a Bounded Field, one that would wrap their school up like a deadly boa constrictor, although Mash had fairly warned him that, by doing this, they are both at risk at drawing out the perpetrator. Ritsuka told her that it’s what he exactly wanted to do.

And now, now, they find out just that, when everyone suddenly passed out and, when they ran to the hallway, a single, gigantic eye appeared in the sky. Ritsuka was busy staring at it in awe and horror when Mash pulled him aside.

“Senpai, watch out…!” She said, firing a spell behind him. Where the spell hits, there was a scatter of bones—the creature was made of those—and around it, there were other, unearthly creatures. 

“Thank you, Mash,” he told her, evenly, trying to assess the situation. There were only two of them, and the creatures just kept spawning. Soon—well, not soon, but _now_ —they would be greatly outnumbered, and besieged. 

“I couldn’t contact Saber,” Mash said, firing another spell, followed by yet another one. She looked quite trouble, although she was trying hard to stay calm. 

“Then it’s my turn,” Ritsuka said, bringing out the hand with the Command Spells—staring a bit at the design, so different from Mash’s—and, before Mash could say anything, he already closed his eyes and summoned his Servant. “Lancer, come to me!”

There was a moment where both them and the unearthly creatures held a breath in anticipation of what would happen next, and then—and then the lion-helmeted knight arrived, in all his glory, a shining dream in the midst of a waking nightmare. 

“Your orders, Master?” He said, after he destroyed a bunch of the creatures near them with a sweep of his luminous lance.

Their relationship had been quite icy for the past couple of days, ever since Ritsuka told him that he couldn’t come with him to school, but at least now, during battle, he showed no signs of the aloofness that he’d shown him for those past days. Ritsuka was somehow grateful of that, even if they were in the midst of a life-and-death situation. 

“Destroy the creatures. I will root out the cause of this with Mash,” Ritsuka ordered, and if Lancer was somehow displeased by his orders, he couldn’t see it (and he was grateful, for there was no need for another wedge in their relationship, however he would define it). “I’ll meet you when we’re done.”

“Oh, a sound order,” he remarked, coldly. “I couldn’t say no. Then, leave it to me, Master. I will bring you victory.”

* * *

None of them—neither him nor Mash—expected that it would end like this. Even Mash, who had finally told him of her own pursuit of Caster—and who apologises a lot for not including him in the investigations—wasn’t expecting this.

Rider dead. Her True Name remained unknown. For all intents and purposes, she was dead on arrival—the Bounded Field belonged to her and was activated by the orders of her Master, Matou Shinji, a lecherous, obnoxious classmate of Ritsuka who had a crush on Mash, but Caster swoops in, kills her, and takes her form when she encountered Ritsuka in the hallway. 

It was all so complicated. And they quickly rushed out of school the moment the police and the ambulance starts arriving. It was a little suspicious, after all, for them to be conscious when the others aren’t, although both of them tried to help out as much as they could. Shinji, being Shinji, was already nowhere to be found. At least they identified him as the third Master in school—the fourth, if Illya is to be counted. 

Sitting in a park some distance away from school, Lancer a little distance away from them in civilian clothing, Ritsuka tried to mull over what happened. Events unfolded so fast in the Holy Grail War, that he scarcely had time to process it. But most of all…his gaze automatically shifted to Lancer, who was crossing his arms on his chest. 

“Lancer,” Ritsuka called him. “What do you think of the situation?”

“The situation?” He echoed, gaze boring into RItsuka. It reminded him of a pasture in spring, in a far away, mythical land. “Let’s see. Berserker is still alive and at large, although we know of his hiding place. Rider is dead, killed by Caster. Her Master is at large, but there’s a large possibility of you running into him tomorrow. And Caster…well, as the girl said, she seemed to be a bigger threat than Berserker, isn’t she?”

_That’s not really what I mean_ , Ritsuka thought, frowning. He wanted to know what he really thinks about what just happened, not the assessment of the situation as a whole. Then again, Lancer seemed to be a master strategist.

“My suggestion is we trap Berserker in Caster’s territory, and let them finish each other. Then we can deal with Rider’s Master, if he hadn’t seek refugee in the Church,” Lancer continued, still in the same flat tone. Mash, who had been listening carefully all this time, finally opened her mouth.

“But that means we have to lure Berserker out,” she said, looking as concerned as ever, “and Caster has to take the trap. I’ve…set a trap for her, and it doesn’t work out well. She’s smart. Cunning, even. It wouldn’t be easy to trap her without some casualties.”

“Are you saying that you are afraid of casualties, Mash Kyrielight?” The same merciless, blank gaze that bore into Ritsuka now pierced Mash’s. “This is war. Anything could happen. Casualties is unavoidable,” Lancer said. 

At that moment, Saber materialised. “Ah, but unnecessary casualties could be avoided, Lancer,” he said, his smile gentle, his long, silver hair caught in the late afternoon light. “Good afternoon, Master, Ritsuka.”

Ritsuka was about to return his greeting, but Mash cuts him off. “Yes, exactly what Saber says. It’s what makes us different from Caster and Berserker, and Rider, even. We don’t cause unnecessary casualties. This isn’t…I’m not going to let this turn into some bloody rampage.”

“Then you simply don’t have the resolve to win this war,” Lancer brushed them off with a cold remark, and Ritsuka knows that this could turn into a protracted battle, so he quickly stopped them.

“A- ah, everyone, why don’t we cool off for a bit? Mash, that was a bit draining for us, I know. And Lancer…” he wavered for a bit, though he doesn’t know why, “let’s go home and get some rest. Does that sound good to you?”

“Anything you want, Master,” he shrugged, and Ritsuka gave Mash and Saber an apologetic look, before following him into the street.

* * *

Later that night, he was about to practise his magecraft, but he felt like he had to stop in the dōjo and had a talk with his Servant. His attitude, his words…it all rubs Ritsuka the wrong way and goes against his principles, but he doesn’t want to scold him. He doesn’t want to get angry with him.

He just wanted to talk.

He opened the door to the dôjo, and he found Lancer there, sitting in repose, perhaps after a practice session. Ritsuka closed the door behind him, takes off his shoes, and sat opposite him.

“Are you coming here to scold me?” Lancer said, after a period of silence. 

“No, I’m not,” Ritsuka told him, smiling slightly. “I just came here to talk. And you missed dinner. It was terribly lonely without you,” he joked, hoping that the other would get it. And for a moment, it does seem like it, for Lancer looked a little surprise, like he always been. Still, it was quickly replaced by his standard cold, blank look. 

“We don’t have anything to talk about,” he said, and Ritsuka wondered if he had rehearsed this somehow, if he had anticipated him coming here and then rehearsed it, “I meant everything I said earlier. I meant to insult the girl, too. I’m not going to take anything back.”

“And I’m not asking you to take anything back,” Ritsuka said, not unkindly. “I just wanted to know the reason behind why you said that.”

For a moment, there was another silence, a more thoughtful one, and Lancer looked away. “I said that because I have seen so much loss, Ritsuka. I have seen war, and I have seen death, grief, and loss. And…” he trailed off, and Ritsuka couldn’t help it—he moved closer, touched his arm gently. 

“And what?” He asked, and the look he glimpsed on Lancer’s face was devastating. What he talked about—Ritsuka instantly know about them, from the look on his face. And…and something more. 

Something crucial, missing.

“Nothing,” he said, back to his cold self, resolute and merciless. He stood up, and didn’t look back, only stopped briefly once he opened the door, turning slightly so the moonlight framed him. “I will be resting now. I’ll see you tomorrow morning, Master.”

* * *

Lancer dreamt a long dream.

In one, he was just a boy, running wild, before everything, before the end of the world, before the sword chooses him. 

In another, he saw himself as what could have been—a reckless youth, a pioneering adolescent, and a content, adoring husband and father. Instead of the cold throne, instead of war, grief, and loss, instead of the storm and the knights and the Wild, wild Hunt, he could have been something else, something human. Instead of ruling, he could have had a wife, children, friends.

Lancer dreamt a long dream.

In the end, he dreams of a field of flowers, with a tall, tall tower in the midst of it, where a mage he knew well was waiting for his arrival with anticipation—but he never did arrive.

Because he’d lost something, something important. And he was searching for it, endlessly, cursed to roam the Earth for eternity in order to find it. It hurts, it hurts, and he sometimes whimpered in his sleep, and he yearned so badly for it, for the thing that he lost, like he mourned for the innocence that he lost, long ago, after he pulled the sword out from the stone, but where could he find it?

Where, on Earth, could he find his sacred sword? That Saber...that Saber probably knows. But he claimed to not know him.

If only his Master knew.

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ritsuka wakes up in the shrine courtyard. Faced with a dangerous opponent, Lancer races against time to save him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dum dum dum HAPPY NEW YEAR!! (again) may your days all be merry and bright and full of gold Servants and good fandom content lol. 
> 
> Just a little side note, Arthur's appearance is pretty much Lancer Arturia's second ascension art, so no sweeping, fluffy red coat...yet. I think I made a mistake about the red part somewhere, sorry! Oh, and I AM going to continue mixing the routes lol (yes I've also been playing Extella lately) so...it's probably only going to get wilder from here.
> 
> Enjoy!

Before he’s even fully awake, still dreaming that long dream of his, before he had fully processed what happened—what _is_ happening—Lancer is already on his steed, speeding in the direction of the shrine on the outskirts of Fuyuki City. A part of him half-remembered what his Master had said before—about how a man in a suit of armour on an equally armoured horse walking around at night in town is suspicious—and thus, somehow he had constructed himself—well, transformed his mount into—a motorcycle, in white, silver, and blue, sleek and powerful, cutting through the roads with the moon high in the sky.

Half-awake, part of him still dreaming, Lancer tried to fight off the fog, only knowing for certain that his Master is in danger, _lethal_ danger, and there is no time to waste. No time to call for allies, no time to think…nothing. His heart and mind raced as he thought about what might happen to his Master—or what is currently happening to him.

No, no, no. He must not allow himself to think that. He gripped the handlebars tighter, pushing his motorcycle to its limit.

As long as he is alive, he would not allow anything to happen to Ritsuka.

* * *

Half-dreaming, half-awake, Ritsuka tried to get a grip of himself. He knows that he is— _somehow_ —in the shrine’s courtyard, standing there in the clothes he slept in, shivering from the winter cold. It actually made him wonder if this is real or if this is some sort of sophisticated magecraft—his father hadn’t taught him much, but he had hinted at the possibility of something like that. That means that he had either been transported to the courtyard or was pulled into…something.

Either way, he felt…curious. But there was also something mixed in there, fear and anxiety, but mostly fear. Ritsuka had never felt this vulnerable before. He tried to move, to open his mouth—perhaps he could call Lancer again like the last time—but he couldn’t. There are magical ropes holding him in place.

And, a moment later, his kidnapper shows her face, walking out from seemingly nowhere.

“Ah, you’re finally awake, boy,” she said, her face covered by her purple, hooded robe, but her smile was unmistakable. It was the smile of someone who had the upper hand, the smile of a witch who had her prey on the palm of her hand. “I apologise if it’s a little bit uncomfortable. After all, we do need to get you away from that Servant of yours, don’t we?”

She loosens the strings on his throat, and Ritsuka gasped for air. He inferred that it’s how she lured him here—with the strings. But _how?_ He was practising magecraft, and then—

“You’re welcome to speak, now,” she said, her smile turning enigmatic. “I suppose we haven’t gotten acquainted yet.”

“No, we haven’t,” Ritsuka said, grasping for words, still trying to take everything in, “but you are…Caster, I take it?”

“Yes,” she said, and Ritsuka imagined that, if the hood were off, she would probably look graceful, and there is indeed something pitiful about her, something…melancholic, but there was a subtle air of malice surrounding her, and there was no doubt about it. “Now that we’ve dispensed with the pleasantries, I’m going to get what I am entitled for. Your hand, please.”

Ritsuka was about to object, clearly, but his hand, still controlled by the strings, moved by its own accord, raised and pointed itself towards Caster. The purple-cloaked Servant summoned an equally ominous glowing purple dagger, smiling slightly as she did so.

“This won’t hurt. Well, maybe just a little bit,” she said, and Ritsuka had to marshal all his will to move his hand just an inch. “Ah, ah. I found your resistance to be charming, boy. Perhaps I’ll let you live after this. Oh, but we have no time to lose.”

Ritsuka suppressed a scream, as the witch comes closer. She lifted his chin, smiled at him the way the moon would smile if it had teeth. “Why?” He managed to ask, struggling against her magical grip. “Why did you do this, Caster?”

“Why,” she said, her lips nearly touching his, “I need your Command Spells, after all. In order to defeat Berserker, I need a stronger Servant, and yours fit the bill. It’s nothing personal, boy.”

Ritsuka remembered his Servant, how he kneeled before him, how he proclaimed to protect him on his honour as a knight, despite his aloof, icy front. He must be on his way here now. He felt his other hand curled into a fist. If only…if only he could buy some time.

“Cas- Caster…I’ll give you my Command Spells voluntarily, if you would answer a few questions for me,” he said, lying through his teeth, hoping that it wasn’t transparent.

“Oh?” She released his face, stroking her dagger instead. “What could that be?” 

That one second, that one second was all it needed for another Servant to barged in, even if it’s not the one he hoped for. A slash, and Caster was pushed back, gasping in surprise. 

“Good evening, Ritsuka,” Saber said, with words calmer than the eye of a storm, landing in the midst of the courtyard. “I do hope I am not terribly late.”

Caster looked phased for a moment by this change in situation, but quickly regained her poise. She’s still dangerous, Ritsuka knows, and if Mash is correct, then this entire area is her territory. 

“My, my,” she said, dusting off nonexistent dust from her robe, “a medium-sized fish walking into an already-closed trap. Sorry, but you’re uninvited,” she continued, smiling ever-so-slightly. “You and your Master.”

“Why, that’s a shame,” Saber told her, readying himself, “I came here in my best outfit. I was hoping to steal the main course.”

Ritsuka was nevertheless a little baffled by this exchange—them talking about him as if he weren’t there—but one slash from Saber and all his strings were cut, and that’s all that matters at the moment.

“Thank you, Saber,” he said, and the silver-haired knight smiled at him in response. “Is Mash with you?”

“Yes,” Saber nods, pushing Ritsuka back. “But this is no time to talk of such things. We need to defend ourselves.”

“Of course you do,” Caster says, her smile getting wider, “I do not like uninvited guests, after all.”

* * *

Ritsuka could only remember it all in fragments, submerged as he was in the sea of unconsciousness. He felt that he heard a voice, clear as day, like a lighthouse, guiding him to shore.

“…and then we had to ask Agravain for help, although ‘ask’ is perhaps misleading…I had to use my kingly authority, after all…”

Ritsuka opened his eyes, and was greeted with the fierce green eyes of his Servant, although they weren’t really focusing on him, but on the story he’s telling, and there’s quite a faraway look on his face. He stirred slightly—realising that his head was on Lancer’s lap, though he still don’t know where he is—blinking his eyes, trying to process what is happening (more so than what had happened). 

“A- ah, Ritsuka- I mean, Master, you’re awake,” Lancer said, looking characteristically embarrassed, as if Ritsuka caught him red-handed doing something embarrassing. “Thank the Lord.”

There was silence—Ritsuka enjoyed looking at him from this perspective, so close and yet not too close for comfort, beautiful as he was, with unearthly green eyes and hair the colour of the sun. It was, as if—although it was still night, as far as he could tell—the sun had personally chose to grace him with his presence. Ritsuka smiled at him, although he felt the fatigue and some pain caught up with him. 

“What happened?” He asked him, praying that this wouldn’t end. Lancer was warm, and his presence was reassuring. He doesn’t know why he thought him cold and inhuman before. 

“Master, you don’t remember?” He said, shifting his focus to him, looking at him intensely. “You…passed out. I was fighting with Assassin, so I don’t really know what is happening in the courtyard, but Saber rescued you,” it was perhaps only his imagination, but Ritsuka felt like his tone changed when he talked about Saber. Maybe he regretted not being able to save him himself? Despite what is happening now…Ritsuka still doesn’t want to flatter himself, not just yet. “He brought you to me. You were injured, but only a little bit.”

He felt like there was something that Lancer wasn’t telling him, but he didn’t push him. Besides, Lancer was right—some parts of his body _did_ hurt. 

“I apologise, Master,” Lancer said, after a longer silence, “once more, I am not up to par. You were hurt. I hope you would accept my apology.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Ritsuka said, shifting so he could get a better view of his Servant’s face, “Caster kidnapped me through magical means. At least…well, at least I’m okay now.”

From his perspective, Ritsuka could see his Servant’s cheeks reddened in the half-dark room, though perhaps that was his own imagination. Though, if it was true, Lancer quickly regained his poise, steeling his gaze.

“That means I shouldn’t be far away from you, no matter what,” he said. “It’s decided then. Tonight I’m going to sleep here, too.”

_Here?_ Ritsuka thought, then he realised that they were already in his room. 

“Unless you prefer sleeping like this? I- I wouldn’t mind, Master, but you probably want somewhere proper to rest.”

Now it was his turn to blush, especially considering how earnestly his Servant said it.

“Right. You need somewhere proper to rest,” Lancer continued, as if he doesn’t notice Ritsuka’s reaction. “Let me roll out your futon for you.”

“Mm, that would be nice,” Ritsuka told him, smiling slightly. He snuggled closer, just a little. “But can we stay like this for a little while, Lancer? I like your stories…”

“O- of course we can, if that’s what my Master wants,” Lancer said, suddenly having trouble with words. He looked so adorable, Ritsuka wanted to kiss his cheek. But of course, he contained himself. “I couldn’t continue the stories, though…they were full of hints of my True Name. But I could tell you other stories.”

Ritsuka smiled, raising his hand just a bit to stroke his cheek. “Then tell me the stories you were told when you were just a little boy.”

Lancer was taken aback, but he smiled, too. That was the first time Ritsuka saw him smile, and he wanted to protect that smile, however he can. He wanted to savour the moment forever and if it’s possible to bottle that smile, he would, for he wanted to see it for eternity. 

“Then, I’ll start. Once upon a time…”

His voice is clear and strong, a lifeline, and Ritsuka found himself slowly falling asleep, afloat in a sea of comfortable darkness, never felt safer or more comfortable.

* * *

Lancer—Arthur Pendragon, he was once called—breathed a sigh of relief when his Master had finally fallen asleep. He was a troublesome one, this one—and it doesn’t help that Arthur was growing fond of him. Ritsuka was a handful, without a doubt, and his inability in both magecraft and the art of sword fighting frustrated Arthur, but he…wouldn’t have it any other way. 

He looked at him, sleeping, on his lap, eyes closed peacefully. Arthur brushed a strand of stray lock from his temple, careful as not to wake him. 

Perhaps it’s time for him to move him to his futon, and then to lay out his own futon, since he’d had permission from his Master to sleep close to him—though the thought actually made him feel embarrassed—and Ritsuka had fallen asleep after all, his chest rising and falling steadily, the room quiet except for the sound of his breathing and the distant sound of the clock, ticking, but…he stared at him. He had to admit, he enjoyed…this.

Arthur felt his cheeks reddening in the darkened room. Since when did he felt this fond towards this Master of his? He’s not even a proper Master. He couldn’t even tell him his True Name. He wasn’t a learnt Mage, someone who knows the lore and strengths of each Servants, their burdens and wishes.

But perhaps…perhaps it was that that attracted Arthur to him. He was just an ordinary boy, and despite the fact that Arthur was nearly a Divine Spirit, his heart was still human. And it was Ritsuka’s resolve, his strength that never faltered in the face of adversity that made him want to pledge his sword—no, his sacred lance—to him. 

Thinking of his sword, he remembered his last encounter with Saber, who was carrying his unconscious Master.

“He’s mostly unhurt,” the silver-haired knight had said, not out of fear, but merely stating the facts. “Only a little injured,” he told him, and Arthur accepted his Master, suppressing a sigh. His battle with Assassin had ended with a draw. Assassin was a red-clad Servant—though not the Red Servant that had hurt his Master before—who fights with his fists, and Arthur underestimated him at first, but he turned out to be quite a formidable opponent. 

There was silence, as Arthur looked at the unconscious Ritsuka and Saber looked at him, and it was as if something passed between them, somber and quiet. Saber had always reminded him of someone important, someone whom he’d spent his last moments with, but he doesn’t really trust his memories anymore, not after he wielded the sacred lance Rhogomyniad. 

After all, he searched and searched his memories for Saber, and part of him was certain that Saber knows something about his sacred sword, but he came up with nothing.

“I will take my leave now, then.” Saber says, bowing slightly. Arthur narrowed his eyes at him, not out of anger, but out of curiosity. When had he’d seen this before? 

“I haven’t allowed you to leave,” he told him, turning slightly to face him. “You haven’t told me everything about your battle with Caster.”

“Ah…if you would pardon my attitude, I do not need your leave, Your Majesty,” Saber said, smiling wryly. “Our terms of alliance do dictate us to share intel, but I believe that is between our Masters to decide.”

“I wanted to know,” Arthur said, pouring every inch of command into his tone, inclining his head slightly. “Tell me. What happened?”

“The witch kept her head, and I kept my honour as a knight,” the other Servant finally said, a little reluctantly. 

“A shame. You could have bested her in a fair fight,” Arthur told him, with certainty, although he doesn’t know based on what. He couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that he knows him. 

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Saber accepted humbly. “Now, my Master is waiting for me…”

But he didn’t leave. Another silence passes them like a ghost unseen, or a wish long gone. He did turn away first, though.

“You _do_ know me.” Arthur said, as the other began to walk away. He wasn’t expecting an answer from Saber, but the other Servant responded when he was a couple of steps away.

“Perhaps. In another universe, another you,” he said, stopping in his tracks, pausing between his sentences. “But that was a story for another day, Your Majesty. Good night.”

Then he disappeared into a pool of light.

In the darkened room, with his Master’s head on his lap, Arthur Pendragon dreamed of Camelot.

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the morning, Ritsuka and Lancer wakes up near each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing Kirei is...hard...but I hope this is passable and decent enough :') or at least what happens after that would make up for it?
> 
> Enjoy!

Somewhere in the night, Lancer must have moved him to his bed, but Ritsuka was too drained to notice, too preoccupied—if it can be called that—with his dream.

This time, he dreamt of the time when he visited the church with Mash.

It was evening, and both Servants comes with them in order to guard them from a possible attack, especially from Berserker since they had concluded that Ritsuka was Illya’s main target, but Saber stays in spiritual form, and Lancer refused to go in, instead opting to keep guard outside, citing that Servants should not enter the neutral, holy ground. 

The overseer was not the kind of man Ritsuka thought he would be. 

He had no expectations in the first place, nothing like expecting the overseer from the Church to be either a pious, holy, kindly man, or someone stern and warriorlike, or even anyone in-between, but Kotomine Kirei, as he named himself, both exceeds and nullifies the non-existence of Ritsuka’s expectations altogether.

It was before he met Caster, but there was a similar, subtle air of malice about them, although Kirei’s was…different. Ritsuka wondered how a man like him had come to work for the Church. 

“And so, the Seventh Contractor had arrived,” he declared, the moment he and Mash stepped into the darkness—no, the emptiness—of the nave. “We meet again, Ms. Kyrielight,” he said, to Mash, turning only ever-so-slightly towards her, with his back still facing them.

“I- I brought senpai here because he needed explanation,” Mash said, by way of explanation, and there was silence. There was silence until the priest closed his book and slowly turned towards them, framed by the darkness and emptiness. Ritsuka wondered if the church had always been this empty, or if it’s something of a side-effect that Kirei has. 

“Explanation or conviction?” He said, his hands clasped behind him. Ritsuka couldn’t help but think that he was hiding something from them—something more than just the Bible he was apparently reading.

Mash seemed to be taken aback by the question. The priest took the chance to smile slightly, an ominous sight, and stared down at them from where he stood, near the altar. 

“I, Kotomine Kirei, could not provide the latter, unfortunately,” he said, “you would know, Ms. Kyrielight. But I could indeed provide some information on The Holy Grail War,” he continued. “Now, what is your name, young man?”

"Fujimaru...Ritsuka,” he answered, somehow felt threatened by the very question alone and by Kirei’s presence. “And I am not here because I seek conviction,” he added.

“You might say that, Fujimaru Ritsuka, but you do not know yourself just yet,” the priest said with a smirk, and Ritsuka felt the urge to fight or flee. He wished he had Lancer here with him—his mere presence alone makes him feel more secure, although he was thankful for Mash’s presence. He could feel her, standing behind him, warm and steady, ready to defend him too whenever he needed. He felt guilty for not being able to protect her properly just yet, but at the same time…he was glad they were on the same side.

“You wanted peace, but you’re afraid of war,” Kirei dispersed his train of thought, pacing slowly from the altar, a predator seizing his prey. “You wanted to protect those important to you, but you don’t want to know how. You believe in hope, and yet you reject despair,” he said, and Ritsuka felt his hand balled into a fist. This man felt like he was picking a fight with him. “You’re just a bundle of contradictions, aren’t you, Lancer’s Master?”

Ritsuka was stunned, don’t know how to respond, but Mash came to his defence.

“Stop it,” she said, “he didn’t come here to be patronised. Give him information pertaining to the Holy Grail War, and then we’ll leave,” she added, quickly, giving Ritsuka a reassuring sideways smile. 

The priest’s smile was mocking, resolute in all its irony. Ritsuka wished…Ritsuka remembered wishing that it was just a nightmare that he could wake up from. Kirei opened his mouth to answer, he knows, but he never could hear what he said next, in his dream-memory, because consciousness had forcibly dragged him to its shore.

He woke up in his bed, blinking tiredly, sunlight streaming from the window, the blinds still closed. 

The surprising fact was that there was another body beside him, curled up peacefully, one hand loosely wrapped around Ritsuka by his belly, who was sleeping on his back. There was a certain protectiveness in his gesture and a peacefulness in his expression that made Ritsuka immediately forgot the scene he’d just dreamt about. 

He doesn’t want to wake him yet, because he looked so gentle and radiant in his sleep, not like a godlike warrior, or the cold, inhuman knight he’d known before, and because Ritsuka doesn’t want to wake up yet.

But, as reality would have it, Lancer stirred much too soon for Ritsuka’s liking, eyelids fluttering open to reveal familiar green eyes, face turned slightly to face him.

“Good morning,” Ritsuka said, quietly, afraid of scaring him off. He does seem the type. 

“…good morning,” he said in return, blinking. 

“Did you sleep well?” Ritsuka asked, still very gently, as if he was talking to a small child, or to a mythical creature that might run off any time and disappear forever. After all, he knows that sooner or later, Lancer would return to his shell, although last night…well, last night might potentially change something, but he doesn’t know yet. 

“I did, yes. Thank you for your concern, Master,” he said, and then, as the situation started to dawn on him, his eyes widened. “…Master?”

He was possibly too shocked to pull away, Ritsuka thought, and smiled kindly. 

“Yes?” He answered, reaching out to brush a stray golden lock from Lancer’s temple. He felt him jolt against his touch, _really_ jolt, and Ritsuka knew it: he was about to run away, any second now. Any moment with him is as precious as it is, all things considered.

“Are you…is this how we’ve slept all night?!” He said, pulling his hand away quickly, and Ritsuka couldn’t help but always, always feeling a little bit disappointed, now more than ever. Still, he stayed in bed, and Ritsuka silently commends him for that. At least he’d improved that much. The Servant that he’d accidentally summoned weeks ago would have killed him on the spot for accidentally sleeping in the same bed as him.

“Apparently, yes,” Ritsuka said, shrugging it off lightly, or at least trying to be. Part of him was feeling embarrassed as well, but unlike his Servant, whose naked embarrassment was showing on every inch of his face, he managed to hide his pretty well. “I thought you said you wanted to sleep close to me…?” He couldn’t help but tease him for a bit, while he was _this_ close. 

There was a long silence, and Lancer sat up before pulling away, or at least tried to, because Ritsuka—his own actions surprised him—reached out to snatch his arm. 

“…Master,” he said, after another silence that felt like eternity, echoing amongst the stars, “you shouldn’t do that.”

_But he doesn’t say anything about last night_ , Ritsuka thought. Though Lancer didn’t want to meet his gaze, and kept his face turned away. By now, Ritsuka could tell that he was trying to keep his expression neutral, although he was having a hard time doing that.

“Stay,” he told him, with all the conviction of a dying warrior, although he was no warrior, unlike his Servant. “It’s the weekend, and it’s warmer that way. And then…” he couldn’t help but smile, even if his Servant still refused to see his face, “…then we’re going on a date.”

He felt his own face going warm, but it was worth it, for Lancer finally deigned to look at him, albeit with a surprised look on his face. The surprised look that Ritsuka thought to be so beautiful on him, because it showcases his humanity, his heart. 

“You— I— we—“ He sputtered, words and mind and heart going haywire, blushing madly, and Ritsuka saw through him, saw that he wanted to go back to old self, wanted to say, _I’m going to kill you for this_ , but he couldn’t, not anymore.

Not since last night. Not since the things that had transpired between them. He now knows Lancer’s weakness: he tries to protect people without understanding that he would grow attached to the people he’s trying to protect. 

“I’m your Servant, Master,” he finally said, once more refusing to meet Ritsuka’s gaze, turning away, though he curiously didn’t try to shake him off. And Ritsuka could sense the trembling in his voice, the doubt and the fear. “It’s illogical for us to go on things like dates. My only purpose is to serve and protect you during this war,” he said, managing to regain some calm, “nothing else. Please don’t misunderstand me.”

“Do you really mean that? Or was it just your fear speaking, Lancer?” Ritsuka finally said, curiosity mixing with concern. “Because I know how it feels like to be afraid to get close to someone, but I didn’t let that fear rule me. I never did. It’s an awful fear, but…” he trailed off, not letting go of his arm, “you’re not alone. And no, I never did ‘misunderstand’ you.”

The next moment he was down on his bed, Lancer on top of him, his hands on either side of his head, gripping the soft material.

“Then which part of that is not clear to you, _Master_?” He asked, sarcastically, coldly, his beautiful green eyes narrowed in anger towards Ritsuka, nearly hissing his words out. 

Despite the obvious threat, despite his anger…Ritsuka doesn’t feel fear. He only feel pity as he stared up at the man who was his Servant.

“Nothing,” he answered, feeling bold enough to stare at him directly, meeting his angry gaze, “but I don’t understand your fear of being close to people. I don’t understand your fear of being close to _me_. It’s only human to wonder, to ask. Is this…is this how you treat your other Masters in other wars?” He mused, not unkindly. “If so, then I…I pity you.”

“Do not pity me,” he retorted quickly, inching closer, so beautiful and untouchable in his righteous anger, the visage of a king, “save it for others. It’s wasted on me.”

“You…” Ritsuka said, lifting an arm, reflexively, to touch Lancer’s face gently, and he thought the other would not allow it, but he surprisingly did, though he flinched at his touch. “You are an enigma, Lancer. I wish you would tell me your True Name.”

Another silence, another echo for eternity, and the older man pulled away, just as sudden as he swooped in. Ritsuka felt the separation painfully, still laying on the bed, even as Lancer stood up and turned away, opening the door.

“I will be at the dōjo,” he said, tone reverting to his cold, old self. “Do not ever say you pity me ever again. I will kill you,” he added. “Without hesitation.”

And with that, he left, leaving Ritsuka at loss for words. _But he did not mention anything about the date_ , Ritsuka thought, keeping it to himself.

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite his earlier protest, Lancer went on a fake date with Ritsuka to a neighbouring city.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HERE IT IS THE SUPREME FLUFF THAT I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR...that I hope y'all have been waiting for too sob. All the ominous stuff w/ Caster will happen next chapter...so stay tuned??? Ugh, I might write a spin off just so I can write the fluff forever.
> 
> Enjoy!

Lancer, for all his knowledge and all the information the Throne had imparted upon him the moment he was summoned to this era, couldn’t, for the life of him, or on his honour as a knight, understood the way of how the mind of his Master works.

But what is more unbelievable is how _his_ mind works. Despite all the threats that he’d told him earlier that day, despite all the show of force and the storming out—pun intended—he still allowed himself to go along with Ritsuka’s ridiculous plan.

Well, it’s not even a plan, since there’s no point to it. He hated himself more every time he realised it.

“Do you have anywhere you specifically wanted to see?” Ritsuka said, breaking his train of thoughts, sliding into an empty seat beside him. They were boarding the bus to go to the neighbouring city, and his Master was kind enough to let him have the window seat. Perhaps it was his way of apologising, in a way. 

“No,” Lancer told him, after a moment of frosty silence. He only answered out of pity—after all, Ritsuka did try to offer him a small smile. 

“Oh, that’s fine then,” Ritsuka didn’t seem phased, and if he is, he didn’t really show it. “I already picked a couple of places that we’re going to visit. That okay with you?”

“Mm,” He grunted, by way of response. His Master smiled, opening a brochure that he had procured earlier. 

“Let’s see…I wanted to go to the bookstore, do you like books, Lancer?” Ritsuka said, and he had to suppress a sigh. He would like the window seat so that he would not be disturbed, and his goal is the same, with the one-word answers. He hoped that his Master—curse his foolish, idealist, romantic soul—would take the hint and let them ride the bus in silence. But apparently, Ritsuka doesn’t have the same idea. “How about the music store? We can sample some music. I actually wanted to go to the amusement park, but that’d be too much for one day, isn’t it…”

He continued, chirping cheerfully, even in the frosty silence that Lancer gave him. In a way, Lancer thought, this is worse than being stuck with a drunk Gawain, or Mordred. He thought that ending up with Ritsuka as his Master was a terrible decision on the Grail’s part, but apparently he had never been so wrong.

“Oh, don’t worry, I brought us some food,” he said, patting the picnic basket that he’d carried. “So we’re definitely going to the park later, it’s a given. After all, the weather is nice today, isn’t it?”

Somehow, the statement about the weather had caught him off guard. He had been staring at the blue sky outside, but then he accidentally looked at his Master and it hits him just how _hard_ Ritsuka had tried.

“…yeah,” he finally said, blinking in confusion. “The weather is indeed nice.”

Lancer perfectly understood that his words sounds stiff and forced, and he could see Ritsuka’s cheerful expression wavered for a second—was it a mask?—and for a moment, he actually felt guilty about it.

“I like books,” he added, after a silence that felt like forever, feeling foolish for a lot of reasons, “but I’ve never had time to read much. I also would like to know what kind of…what kind of music you liked,” he said, feeling his cheeks heating up a little, and cursing himself mentally. Can’t he talk to his Master like a normal Servant now? Well, certainly not after last night and what happened this morning, and Lancer was never a “normal” Servant to start with—as if such a thing existed—but he felt that he only wanted some peace of mind.

Which apparently he couldn’t get, since he caught himself staring at his Master for a bit too long. The younger man smiled, and Lancer scowled and looked away.

“I know you do,” Ritsuka said, amiably. “That you like books, I mean. I never know that you’d like to know what kind of music I liked,” he continued. “Makes me wonder.”

“Wonder about what?” Lancer couldn’t help but asked, and Ritsuka’s smile, when he looked at him, gets wider, a ‘teasing’ smile, as he now called it. He immediately regretted his decision. 

“Oh, nothing,” Ritsuka hums, and, to his surprise, leaned on his shoulder. “I just wonder about a lot of things on a daily basis.”

Lancer looked around desperately, sending desperate, silent pleas to everyone around them: _please, help me escape this situation_. But of course, no one heard him. 

“I’m also going to surprise you with something,” Ritsuka continued, and this time, Lancer couldn’t help but blush. “You haven’t tried ice cream ever since you arrived, right? Let me treat you,”

This time, he couldn’t help but let out a long sigh, pretending to look at the formation of clouds in the sky.

“Master, you’re impossible,” he said, but he doesn’t really mean it.

Beside him, Ritsuka laughed, a laugh more suitable for blue skies and green pastures, not wars, no matter how holy or sacred. 

If he could rewind the moment, or keep it forever to himself, he would.

* * *

There was something cheerful about the city, something that Fuyuki lacked, something that made him waver for a moment, when they stepped off the bus, but Ritsuka tugs him forward. Perhaps it really was the weather, Lancer thought.

“Come on, what are you waiting for?” Ritsuka said, literally tugging on his coat’s sleeve. “We do have all day, but we have a full itinerary. Let’s go.”

Since he didn’t really have a choice—and since the younger man had already persistently pulled him along—Lancer couldn’t really do anything but nod and let himself being led away from the bus stop, into the unfamiliar city. 

They did made a beeline to the bookstore first—Lancer wondered if such a thing did not exist in Fuyuki since Ritsuka was so enthusiastic about it—and there, he watched as his Master turned into something else—not someone else, he still knew him, and yet, this was another side of him that Lancer hadn’t seen yet ever since he met him—amidst the shelves lined with books, and he watched as his Master suddenly forgot all about the burden thrusted upon them and became overcome with joy, a joy that…well, he had not predict that he would have seen. He let him pick some books for him.

Then the music store, as Ritsuka promised. Lancer was overwhelmed with the sheer number of music that people had produced, too, and although he possessed the knowledge about the modern form of music and how they were produced, he still couldn’t believe everything he saw. The literature, too…the sheer amount of creativity and zest he’d seen was unbelievable, unthinkable in his era.

Ritsuka asked if they could pick some music for each other, too, and Lancer couldn’t say no.

They made a stop in a glasses store next—he didn’t exactly know what Ritsuka is doing, but by now he’d actually felt relaxed enough to trust him, though obviously he wouldn’t admit it to his Master—and Ritsuka suddenly tiptoed closer and placed a pair of glasses on his face.

“There,” he said, chuckling, “I saw them on the display and I thought they’re going to look good on you.”

Lancer—because he didn’t know how else to respond—scowled, and in return, he quickly snatched the nearest pair and thrusted it on Ritsuka’s face.

“Now we’re even,” he said, feeling too embarrassed to admit that this was all, in fact, very embarrassing. 

Ritsuka checked himself out on the nearest mirror, and started laughing. Lancer felt very, very embarrassed.

“Th- there’s nothing funny, right?” He demanded immediately. “I- I just took whatever’s nearest!”

“Oh, nothing, there’s nothing funny at all…” Ritsuka said, checking again on the mirror, “just that we accidentally matched,” he told him, looked him in the eyes, and smiled. “Do you actually think these looked good on me too, Lancer?”

Lancer felt blood rushing to his cheeks, and he couldn’t help but look away. “Maybe,” he said, in an uncharacteristically small voice. “Let’s just get out of here.”

* * *

Later on, they went to the park and he helped Ritsuka set things up for the picnic.

“Wait here,” he told him, smiling slightly. “I’ll return with a surprise,” he said, and Lancer knew he was going to fulfil his promise. After all, the day has been nothing but Ritsuka fulfilling his promises and it has been…well, he felt…strangely _content_. He nodded, but he was so distracted by this train of thought that Ritsuka had already went away.

Lancer had never felt normal before. Even before the sword chose him, even before he pulled the Sword of Selection out of the stone as a boy, he always knew, somehow, deep within him, that he was destined for something greater, something well beyond his reach, his life extending well beyond its limitations. 

Then he lost the Holy Sword, and gave up his humanity to become something else, something wilder, something beyond human senses. 

He never thought that a day like this would occur.

Something has stirred within him, something deep inside of him, something that sings of angels and forgiveness and _humanity_ , but Arthur couldn’t comprehend it just yet. He couldn’t comprehend what all of this means.

He only knows that he would now protect his Master with his life, no matter what it takes.

“…Lancer? Are you okay?” He heard the familiar voice calling him, and he discovered that his Master was back and looking at him with concern written on his face. 

“Yes, I’m alright,” he said, noticing that Ritsuka were carrying two unfamiliar foodstuffs, but he’d seen them before: these must be the ice cream that he was talking about earlier. “I apologise if I worry you, Master.”

“It’s Ritsuka,” he said, thrusting one of the ice cream he was holding on his hand to him, and Lancer accepted it, only slightly confused. “We’re on a date now, remember? You don’t need to be so formal either,” he continued, smiling widely and sat down opposite him on the picnic mat. “Now eat it before it melts.”

“…alright,” he said, still not sure how to react to all of this. He looked at the ice cream that he was now holding warily. “Should I be concerned about this?”

Ritsuka laughed again, and Lancer felt silly, like he was a young boy again, like he was human again, like he was _alive_ again. 

“Unless you eat it too quick, then you’ll get brain freeze. You really didn’t know?” Ritsuka asked, skeptic with a smattering of acceptance. “Watch me,” he said, and licked his ice cream. “Now you do the same, Lancer.”

“…really?” Lancer responded, looking at him in disbelief, although he suddenly felt very, very shy, and he licked his slowly, “like this?”

Any fool would have noticed the way they looked at each other after that, the way their gazes linger at each other’s lips for a moment before they looked away—Ritsuka, surprisingly, looked away first—but there is no such fool around, and Lancer refused to believe what he just saw. 

After all, despite the stirring that he felt earlier, despite the certainty of his loyalty now, he is still what he is: a tool for winning the Grail. And he doesn’t want his Master to start getting the wrong idea. He definitely doesn’t want Ritsuka to pity him, either. In fact, he still doesn’t understand what the younger man means when he said that he was afraid of getting close to him—Arthur thought it was only natural. He had given up his humanity—almost completely—and it was only natural for him to distance himself from other people, including keeping a certain distance from his Master.

“What, you thought you had to bite it? Your teeth’ll get cold…” Ritsuka said, and laughed. Lancer looked at him in a certain stillness, dumbfounded still, part of him—the _human_ part of him—never wanting to let go of this moment, of this hour, of this afternoon, of this day. 

“No, I know how,” he told him, stubbornly, and took another lick of his ice cream. “I just don’t want to embarrass myself, that’s all,” he shrugged.

Ritsuka smiled, then, as if he’d just admitted some secret, imparted a sacred knowledge of him that nobody else knows. But perhaps that was the case. Realising what he’d just said, Lancer blushed. 

“I- I mean. I do not care what other people thinks, of course. I’m a king…” he mumbles, eating his ice cream. It tasted good.

“Obviously,” Ritsuka said, and though Lancer knows he was playing along, he felt grateful for that. “It should be dessert, but I’m breaking the rules. We’re going to eat lunch after this. Are you hungry? You should be.”

At this point, he knows him enough to know that if he said no, Ritsuka is going to fuss over him, so Lancer simply nodded. Ritsuka smiled again, and somehow, Lancer felt his heart flutter. 

“Alright. We have some time before the bus leaves, so let’s take our time with our food,” he said. There was a little bit of cream near his lips, and Lancer reflexively reached out to wipe it off, but halfway through he remembered why he shouldn’t and quickly puts his hand down. Ritsuka gave him a puzzled look, but he simply shrugged and looked away.

In retrospect, when he relived the memory of the day, he wished he had, though.

And he wished that he had held Ritsuka’s hand, too.

* * *

It was drizzling a little on their way back (though it seems impossible from how excellent the weather was earlier), but Ritsuka brought an umbrella, and they found no sufficient obstacle in reaching the bus stop on time. It was clear that the outing had a wonderful effect on his Master, for he was humming a tune Lancer recognised from the music store earlier, and for that, he was secretly grateful. He wasn’t very attentive, nor does he want the other to mistake his intentions, but he did care about him, in a way, and he’d noticed that the war has been very taxing on Ritsuka, though he cheerfully hides it with a smile. It also didn’t escape his attention that the girl—Mash Kyrielight—did try to talk to him some time ago, most likely about it, though Lancer quickly distanced himself from such a talk.

“Well?” Ritsuka asked, as they were boarding the bus and took their seats—Lancer gave him the window seat this time around—closing his umbrella beforehand, “how do you feel?”

Lancer gave him a blank look. “How do I feel about what?”

Ritsuka suppressed a sigh, he knows, but the small smile remained on his lips.

“Today, of course. Did it meet your expectations?” He asked, and Lancer couldn’t help but notice that they were sitting a little too close to each other, shoulders nearly rubbing together, though of course, the younger man was shorter than him.

“Huh. I don’t have any expectations,” Lancer shrugged, but quickly added, “but it wasn’t bad.”

Ritsuka’s small smile widens, and Lancer’s heart ached, his body yearned for human contact, something that he hadn't had in a long, long time, but he stayed still in the limited space of the bus. 

“Good. I’m glad to hear that,” he said, grinning a little, “I just want you to…well, I want you to enjoy your time here.”

That nearly made him blush, but mostly, it caught him off guard. He couldn’t help it, then. A small smile made its way to his lips. “Thank you, Master,” he said, not unkindly, as earnest as he could. After all, even if he objected to the idea in the first place, even if he thought that it was stupid and pointless…well, Ritsuka had tried so hard. It was only right for Lancer to recognise his efforts.

“We’ll go the movies next time,” Ritsuka said, leaning on his shoulder again, and it sounds like a promise.

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The date ended up in something ominous, something beyond their control, and Ritsuka and Lancer are trapped inside of Caster's Reality Marble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AND THIS IS THE ENDING OF PART ONE I THINK??? I'm gonna continue since this is something that prevented work from turning me into a Berserker so pls stay tuned! Thanks so much for sticking with me this far!! I hope I did Medea some justice since she's pretty much my favourite FSN character.
> 
> (also, I made a tiiiiiiny mistake: Ritsuka's eyes are blue, not brown/dark. I'm sorry for this!)
> 
> Enjoy!

He was standing in a pasture, green as far as the eyes can see, sky as blue as the inside of someone’s heart, or an ocean of dreams. Ritsuka felt confused at first, but gradually realised that it was a dream.  


He saw a boy, some distance away, and he shielded his eyes from the sun, still trying to adjust himself to this landscape, before slowly taking a few steps towards the boy.  


A boy and a sword, set in stone. A boy and a sword in stone, his fate forever sealed, eternity stretches out before him.  


And he hesitated—doubtful for a moment that indeed felt like eternity—before he pulled out the sword from the stone.   


The sword glowed, a luminous, faint light, as if something cold could mimic the sun, and Ritsuka could see that the boy was fascinated, awed.  


Afraid.  


Then he was standing in a battlefield, and all is lost. Everything reeks—of blood, guts, and war, always war, everywhere he goes—and he half-expected to stumble and fall in the heap of so many bodies, culminating in a hill and a betrayal, but it was a dream, and he reached the summit, unmolested and unscratched.  


There, again, he saw the boy, this time older, fighting a battle that both of them knew he would not win, with an opponent who also knew that he would not win, either. It was a draw, a duel set down in fate. But the opponent—the treacherous knight—find his way and strikes down the boy with the Holy Sword first, and down he went, although not without taking his opponent down with him.  


He saw the boy-king’s expression—fascinated, awed, _afraid_ —before he fell.   


And then, and then, a lush green surroundings, as a familiar knight carried his liege to the forest, their blood dripping behind them, leaving a trail of crimson, but neither of them cared about it. All the silver-haired knight cared about was saving his king, and all his king cared about...was the cursed Holy Sword.  


Ritsuka saw them, as the knight set his liege down beside the pond. He saw the unspoken trust from the king to the knight, saw him thrusting the Sword to his hand, saw the reluctance of the knight to accept it. There are no words, but Ritsuka understood what it means: _throw this in the Lake_. _Let me be at peace_.  


The silver-haired knight’s response must have been surprising, tears running down his cheeks, because the king looked fascinated for a moment, awed. 

But also afraid. 

And then, and then, and then...he saw the knight’s failure. The king’s subsequent failure to attain peace, to go to the garden where a certain Mage had been waiting for him. How the king surrendered his Humanity to become something more, something wilder, the essence of storms and the heavens' wrath, who could break the world asunder with his spear.  


His expression, still the same with the boy that he saw earlier, was still fascinated, still awed, still afraid, although he grew older now, colder.   


“...tsuka. Ritsuka,” he heard someone call his name, his voice strong and clear, a lighthouse anchoring him slowly towards consciousness. He stirred, lightly at first, but then awakened with a jolt. He felt stiff all over, as he usually did whenever he fell asleep during journeys, but this was...different.  


“Master. I think you should look outside the window,” Lancer immediately said, by way of greeting, gesturing towards the window beside Ritsuka. He’d been asleep on Lancer’s shoulder, and that would usually make him feel embarrassed, even if he did it before, but from Lancer’s urgent tone, and from the sudden, ominous air around them, he could tell that this isn’t the time nor the place.   


There was a fog surrounding them, and when earlier they were surrounded by people, now there are only the two of them. He immediately checked the driver’s seat from the rearview mirror, but it seemed...empty.  


Something malicious was at work. Something wicked was afoot. And he was quite certain as to who the perpetrator is.   


He could feel Lancer, pulling him urgently to his feet. “Come,” he said, back to his old, efficient self, “we need to get out of here first. This bus is going to crash.”  


He can see that Lancer was right—a crash was imminent—and yet his mind races with a thousand things, part of it still immersed in the dream, the dream that he should forget, he knows. But for some reason, he could not, and would not, forget it.  


Lancer pulled the emergency brake—Ritsuka didn’t know the details of how and when did he do that, but he kept Ritsuka close by his side. The vehicle made a sound like a hurt, dying animal.  


Lancer narrowed his eyes. “I’m going to break the glass,” he said. “Hold on. I’ll pull you out with me the moment it’s safe to jump out.”

“D- don’t you think it’s better if we wait until it stopped completely?” Ritsuka responded, and tried to see where the vehicle is heading now in its trajectory, but it’s hard to predict, with all the fog around.

“We have no more time to waste. We wouldn’t know what would happen then and it’s hard to see anything clearly in this fog,” Lancer said, and it’s hard to argue with him. “Just hold on to me, Ritsuka. I promise we’ll get out of here unhurt.”  


Ritsuka nodded, wordlessly. It’s hard to argue with him when he’s giving him that tone, and besides...besides, he trusted him completely. Thus, he did as he was told, and let his Servant did his job.  


The next thing he knows, his Servant lifted him off his feet, once more bridal-style, and broke through the nearest glass. Ritsuka felt every cell in his body screamed—they were _this_ close to death, with the wind whooshing all around them—but Lancer landed on the road successfully, in the outside world, and they only suffered minor scratches.   


It was quite a feat. Ritsuka could still feel his heart hammering wildly in his chest.  


“We did it,” he said, still in his Servant’s arms, still couldn’t believe it.   


“Yes,” Lancer said, stoically, and sets him down on his feet.  


The world was nearly completely enshrouded in fog. Now that they were outside the bus—which had somehow disappeared from their point of view and, Ritsuka assumed, crashed somewhere—he could see that it was even thicker, to the point where he feared that it would be hard for him to breathe, though thankfully, so far he found no difficulty with that.

“This isn’t normal fog. This is the work of a Servant,” Lancer said, his coat and the normal clothes he wore vanishing, replaced by his armour.  


“Caster,” Ritsuka said, feeling just a little bit light-headed as he mentioned her name, remembering their encounters. After the encounter at the temple courtyard...he encountered her again with Mash multiple times, most notably when they tried to ambush her on the road to the temple. That attempt was unsuccessful, and both him and Lancer suffered grave injuries. Clearly, not only Caster, but her Master is also someone that could not be trifled with, and it was none other than the teacher who encountered them that one Sunday, the one person that Ritsuka did not suspect, but whom he knew Lancer suspected.

A figure approached them. Lancer summoned his spear of glass, extending an arm in front of Ritsuka. 

“Stand back,” he warned, and Ritsuka obeyed him this time.   


“Senpai, Lancer,” a familiar voice rings out. “It’s me. I couldn’t— this Reality Marble cuts off my connection with Saber, but I was able to find you, finally.”  


“Mash?” Ritsuka asked, disbelief mixed with curiosity. “Is that really you?”  


The girl with the purple hair nodded. “Yes, senpai. It’s really me. I found out about your plans from Taiga-sensei and I was about to pick you and Lancer up from the bus stop. But...”  


Lancer now pointed his spear at her, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “We know that Caster can create convincing duplicates. There’s no guarantee that you are not one of her duplicates,” he demanded, and Ritsuka couldn’t help but agree. After all, he did witness with his own eyes that Rider...well, Caster took the face of Rider, who was already dead at that time.  


The girl who looked like Mash nodded. “I know. I couldn’t prove that I’m the real Mash,” she said. “So it’s up to you whether...whether you are going to trust me or not.”  


Ritsuka opened his mouth, was about to answer, but suddenly a number of creatures appeared from the fog, the creatures who besieged them back at school, the unearthly skeletons with their endless number.

They were surrounded by the creatures.  


“Ritsuka...no, Master, leave this to me. I shall crush them with my spear,” Lancer said, and Ritsuka knows that he’s going to summon his mount any moment now. Mash has moved closer to them, and they were back-to-back.   


“Wait,” Ritsuka said. “Is there something they wanted?”  


He wasn’t entirely sure about that, but he took a step, and then two, in a certain direction. The creatures remained, but they seemed to take a step back, reforming themselves, although they still surround and guard them with an unmistakable hostility.  


“They wanted us to go to that direction,” Ritsuka said, pointing at it. “Perhaps it’s where Caster at.”

Ritsuka dared to steal a glance at the other two. Mash looked the slightest bit worried, and Lancer looked skeptical. But, despite that, he took another step forward.  


“Master. It’s dangerous.” Lancer said, lowering his lance and turning slightly towards him. “I suggest you get back now.”  


“No,” Ritsuka said, with more conviction than he ever thought he could possess. “These creatures are endless. She could summon them at will. We have to see what she wants.”  


“After all, this is a Reality Marble,” Mash added, and Ritsuka felt a tug on his sleeve. It was her, and despite the possibility that she might be a capricious copy—though Ritsuka had his own reasons to believe that she’s not—he gave her a small, reassuring smile. “Please, senpai, let me take the lead.”  


“I’ll be all right,” he told her, although he doesn’t know what would happen, either. “Let’s go together.”  


* * *

She was rising, soaring above them like a great moth, or the night itself, flying on dark, silent wings. Ritsuka couldn’t see her expression clearly, but he was certain that she was smiling, like when he met her on that fateful night, on the temple courtyard.  


“You’ve finally come,” she said, lowering herself just a little, just enough so that they could see a smattering of her triumphant expression, “my skittering pets have finally brought the strays home.”  


“What do you want?” Ritsuka immediately asked. He felt Lancer stepped forward behind him, nearly in sync with Mash, but he stopped them.   


“I’m glad you asked,” the witch in the purple robe said, smiling enigmatically. “I believe I had something that belongs to you.”  


She unveils a sleeping woman besides her, a woman that Ritsuka knows so well by now. His guardian. His teacher. The one who wasn’t very dependable as an adult, but who taught him to live and continue on when his father passed away. He could feel his hand balling into a fist.  


“Yes, take a good look at her,” Caster chuckled. “She is only sleeping, but I could do more than that, if you did not give me what I wanted.”

“Master—“   


“Senpai—“  


Ritsuka silenced them both. He’d never felt so...so enraged, and yet so hopeless, vulnerable. 

“What do you want, Caster?” He asked, harshly, a tone that would normally surprise him—and perhaps it did surprise Mash and Lancer—but he didn’t care anymore. He could only see Taiga, suspending in midair, and the witch who used her as a bargaining chip against him.  


“Your Command Spells,” she said, her smile still as wicked and villainous as ever, even with most of her face hidden under the hood of her robe. “And your Servant, of course. Berserker is a thorn on my side and I need to get rid of him to secure my Master’s victory,” she continued, and Ritsuka narrowed his eyes at her. “Your Servant could do well to get rid of him. Very, very well. And I would get what I wanted.”  


“And if I say no?” Ritsuka retorted, feeling the rage building up inside of him, and he knows that the others can sense it. _She_ can sense it. The evil witch chuckled, certain in her victory, and Ritsuka felt his nails dig into his palm. She had her bargaining chip. Even if they insist on fighting her...she could do horrible things to Taiga. His personal encounters with Caster so far had shown him just how far she’s willing to go to achieve nothing short but complete victory.   


“Well...then,” she said, clicking a finger, and the sleeping woman vanished. “I guess you don’t mind if I keep her around for a little bit, do you?”  


Ritsuka could feel nothing but rage, pure, blind fury, and distantly, he could feel Mash touching his arm gently, but it felt as if it was happening to somebody else. This couldn’t be happening. Not to him. The real Taiga must be safe at home, and this is an illusion made to deceive him.  


But, but. Every single part of him screamed that she was real.  


“Ritsuka,” he heard a voice, finally, a calm, collected voice, rising above the thunderstorm that was his mind, “let me fight this woman.”

“Senpai,” Mash chimed in, hesitant, and Ritsuka finally noticed her gentle touch, “we could try to save her. I could help with my magic, a little.”  


_But your magic is nearly purely defensive_ , he nearly caught himself saying, _and that witch is going to do horrible things to Taiga if we don’t do what she says_. 

It felt like a fairytale, like another dream. Except he couldn't wake up from this one. He closed his eyes, briefly, and opened them again.

And so he came to his conclusion. Ritsuka steps forward, hesitantly.  


“I will give you my Command Spells,” he declared, knowing full well how Lancer and Mash would react, and he didn’t want to see them, “but only if you free her first. Give me her, and I’ll give you what you want.”  


Caster remained in repose, for a moment, smiling enigmatically now, a woman slathered in moonlight and forbidden spells, but she quickly snapped another finger, and Taiga fell to the ground in front of him.

“Now come forward,” she said, her amusement hiding her boredom, “give me your Command Spells.”  


Perhaps it was then that he truly regretted it, or perhaps it was then that Ritsuka realised that his heart had been singing a different song ever since Lancer arrived, but either way, he would never forget the look on his Servant’s face, when he moved forward voluntarily, and let the witch stabbed him on the chest with her ominous-looking dagger.  


It hurts, but barely, for his mind was still on Lancer. His Servant. His friend. Perhaps something more, in progress. Someone he trusted. And he had...he had betrayed him.  


“Excellent,” the witch said, stepping back and laughing. “Now Lancer—“ she pointed towards him with her newly-acquired Command Spells, “I hereby command you to kill them.”  


* * *

It sounds like a promise when Ritsuka told him about how they’re going to the movies next, and Lancer believed him. More than that, he _trusted_ him.

Thus, he felt...numb, all over—though it was perhaps an understatement—when his Master handed him over to the witch. He understood his concern, but in his mind, it was an absolutely foolish move, objectively speaking. He couldn’t possibly...possibly handed him over just like that.   


He couldn't possibly handed him over as if what had transpired between them did not matter, as if they were merely bound by convenience, though a part of him truly believed that with all of his heart and soul. 

He knows full well the theatre of emotions, the interplay of expressions that graced his features the moment Ritsuka made his decision. The moment their gazes met. He could see an apology in his Master’s bright blue eyes, but there were also something more than that, something that looked a lot like regret.  


Lancer looked away first.

It barely surprised him that the first command the witch gave him was to kill Ritsuka and the girl both. But it still surprised him how the Command Spell gave his body and his spirit a life of its own, his sacred spear glowing in the face of his Master. No,  _former_  Master.   


Even then, he was certain, still, of one thing: Ritsuka had gained his trust. And even if he betrayed him, and even if he abandoned him...Lancer would still fight for him. And thus, he could feel a word forming in his mouth.  


“Run.” He said,  _told_  them, before he used all the strength of his mind, body, and spirit to hold off the spear’s reckoning.  


* * *

The boy was fascinated, still, by his own power, awed, still, by the spear that anchors the world, and by the Sword that was the breath of the planet itself, and afraid, still, of everything, including his own reflection.  


In the end, the witch took him under his robe and spirited him away.

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ritsuka and Mash ruminates on a plan on how to save Lancer. Meanwhile, Lancer is approached by the Servant in red.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, this is a bit late and I didn't realise it, I'm sorry! Anyway, this is where the fun begins, haha. I have a tumblr now so feel free to follow me (I couldn't find any good Fate blogs to follow, weep) @ lancerarthur!! I also have an aes blog, @avaguetrembling which also serves as my main. 
> 
> On to the story!

Ritsuka could only remember things in fragments, in useless pieces like ill-fitting puzzle pieces that doesn’t really belong to each other.

He remembered fighting his own—no, no longer his own—Servant to his full extent. He remembered Mash, shielding him. He remembered her, too, pulling him and Taiga out of the hole that she punched in the Reality Marble.

He doesn’t remember getting home. 

“…pai. Senpai. Please stop pacing the room and sit down,” her voice penetrated his train of thought, finally, concern mingled with fear. It was a fear that Ritsuka know all too well, a fear that he’d recognised before it even formed itself. He wanted to give her a reassuring smile, as he so often did, and tell her that everything’s going to be alright, but he…he doesn’t know what to say, to himself.

Put it in an apt way, even he doubted himself.

He ran his fingers through his dark hair, sighing, before stopping. Mash was right, he had been pacing the room for god knows how long. Perhaps ever since they arrived. He flicked his gaze towards the clock. What time is it…? He stared at the clock and blinked. Since when did it get this late…? 

It feels to him as if…as if the date had just happened.

“Senpai. Are you alright?” Mash said, again, rising from her seat. Ritsuka finally looked at her. She looked calm, collected, but it was easy to tell that she was also a mess underneath the mask. Her hair looked just the slightest bit messy, and her eyes, underneath her glasses, looked tired. She needed rest, Ritsuka thought. “I’ve put Taiga-sensei in the guest room. It looks like Caster’s telling the truth. She’s just…she’s just sleeping, but I don’t know for how long. I’m guessing I could try to wake her, if you want to.”

Ritsuka sighed, again, and sat down opposite her. 

“Thank goodness she’s alright,” he said, trying to be optimistic. “How about you? Are you…alright, Mash? You looked tired. You could stay here for the night.”

“I should,” she said, “but there is…there is something important I need to do first. Senpai,” she added, after a moment of silence, “you should go and seek the Church’s protection.”

Ritsuka wanted to laugh, remembering the holy man who is not a holy man, but he was too tired and drained for that. His laugh sounded hollow, like the insides of that Church.

“No,” he said, though his determination still bleeding through. “I am not giving up on Lancer just yet. It may…it may be my fault, but I promise I’m going to rescue him from that witch.”

“In the meanwhile, then…” Mash said, looking at the cup of tea she was holding, “please, senpai, lay low for a bit. I couldn’t always protect you. I could command Saber to look after you, but you would not want that, right?” She puts down the cup of tea after first emptying it. “It may be a little much to ask for, but your safety is really important to me personally, Senpai.”

It shook him, but only a little. Ritsuka never knew that he was _that_ important to Mash, although to be fair, there are hints here and there and…well, he _should_ have known. After all, since the Holy Grail War started, and even before then…she always looked out for him, despite being the younger one. 

“Thank you, Mash,” he said, smiling at his junior, who immediately blushed, though it could be a trick of the light, “I really appreciate it. I wouldn’t give up the fight just yet, but you’re right. It probably wouldn’t hurt to lay low for a bit,” he told her, although he felt a pang of hurt. The longer he let Lancer under that witch’s influence…he doesn’t really want to think about it. 

It _does_ hurt, especially knowing how helpless he is. And yet. And yet, he wanted to save humanity. Ritsuka wanted to laugh mentally at his own idiocy. 

“Yes,” Mash nodded, looking greatly reassured, and Ritsuka felt his guilt of lying faded away, “I’m going to the church tonight. With Saber. You needn’t worry about me. I need to ascertain a few facts. And then…” she trailed off, extending a hand absent-mindedly,as if asking him to take it, “and then we could form a plan to save Lancer.”

He opened his mouth to respond, but Mash cuts him off. 

“You stay here, Senpai. Get some rest. I will do some protective spells around the house before I left. I’ll be back before dawn.”

Ritsuka, opening and closing his fist, wished that he could do something more, as always, but this time, he could only nod. Mash smiled, retracting her hand. 

“Good. We have a deal then. I’m going now, with Saber. Please, do take care of yourself, Senpai.”

* * *

The clock ticks. The empty house slept away in the winter night, as if it was never awake at all, as if it had never been alive with warmth and laughter and life. Ritsuka paced the empty dining room once, twice, thrice. That was how many times he’d considered striking out on his own and going after Mash. But a part of him remembered Lancer, remembered his smile, how he had wanted so bad to protect it at the moment, and he thought:

_If I die, I would never see him smile again_.

A part of him whispered that it’s going to be worth it, but now he knows better. He tried to practise his magic in the old shed behind the house, where he accidentally summoned Lancer all those time ago—it felt like forever—trying to fashion a wooden club into his spear, but he failed, and nearly collapsed in exhaustion. 

Perhaps Mash was right. He did need some rest.

But Ritsuka refused to remain idle while Mash is doing something, also not while Lancer is in the hands of the enemy. He tried to think of a plan, of something, anything, sitting in the terrace and looking at the moon, but his mind, too, was too exhausted to think of anything. 

He unconsciously looked at the dōjo, and let out a long sigh.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, to nobody in particular, looking at the back of his hand, where his Command Spells were before he gave them voluntarily to Caster. “If only…if only I were a better Master. I’m sorry for disappointing you. Now I’ll never get to take you to the movies, and you’ll never get to tell me your name.”

He sighed again, understanding just how pathetic it was, to talk to himself under the moonlight like that, and after a particularly idiotic decision that was entirely his own fault. Ritsuka stood up, making his way back towards the dining room with every intention to wait for Mash there. He gave her a key, but he wanted to greet her, no, actually, he wanted to know immediately what she’d garnered from her visit to the Church.

The next thing he knows, he was standing in the pasture again.

It played out like how it was before: a sword set in stone, a hill of corpses culminating in a betrayal, the failure of the king’s knight to return the sword, and the king’s ascension into something more, like a play in four acts.

Except this time, the king was looking straight at him in the end, after his transformation.

Ritsuka stared back, understanding full well that this was only a dream, but at the same time, knowing that this is the landscape that his Servant was trapped in, night after night after night after night, the king’s fierce, dragonlike green eyes piercing deep into his soul. Ritsuka thought that, at his time, he must have had songs composed about him, and not only in terms of his prowess in battle. 

“You are—“ the king said, his gaze relentless like his stallion, though it softens for a moment, as if he remembered something, something that hasn’t happened yet, “do I know you?”

The throne was behind him, decorated in blue and silver, like his armour and cape, and Ritsuka thought, it suits him too, although there was still something cold about his eyes, unlike the one he know from memory, at least in recent memory. 

“Not yet,” he said, smiling up at the man who stood before the throne. “But we will.”

“Strange,” the king said, a wistful look gracing his handsome features for a moment, “my intuition said that I know you. Perhaps—“

“In the future,” Ritsuka said, stepping closer. Even as a third-rate mage who are lacking in knowledge, at this point he could make an educated guess on the identity of his Servant. The shining blue-and-silver city, the high, elegant throne, the betrayal and the Sword…Ritsuka closed his eyes for a moment before opening them with a sigh. “I’m going to save you. Wait for me, Lancer. Mark my words: I’m going to rescue you, even if it’s the last thing I do.”

The king tilted his head slightly, confused, and opened his mouth to answer, to say something, and Ritsuka waited for it in anticipation, but it never came.

Mash woke him up.

“Senpai, are you truly alright?” She said, and he realised that he’d been asleep with his head on the kotatsu. He doesn’t remember when it happened, only that it apparently did.

“I’m- I’m fine,” he said, groggily rubbing his eyes. “You’re back already? Where’s Saber?”

“On the lookout, outside. But, more importantly, senpai,” she said, narrowing her eyes, and Ritsuka immediately flinched, readying himself for her characteristic scolding. “We have no more time. Shinji-senpai has earned himself a new Servant. And,” she paused, letting the impact of her words sink in first, “the Church had been attacked. By Caster.”

“Caster…!” Ritsuka exclaimed, suddenly awake. He’d known firsthand just how cruel she is, how far she’s willing to go, remembering the woman who was steeped in moonlight and forbidden spells, who smelled of a far-away land, a land that she could never return to. “What happened? Are you alright? How did you escape?”

“It happened shortly after we left,” Mash explained, pacing the room, looking thoughtful. “I think she timed it so that it happened after we left. Perhaps she hoped to gain some information as well while also setting a bait for us.”

“Mm, that does sound like what she’d do,” Ritsuka nodded. “But attacking the Church? What could she possibly hope to gain from that?”

“Information, senpai,” Mash pointed out, sitting down opposite him with a long sigh. “Not to mention a base where she can operate freely. The Temple is convenient, but it’s a long way away from the city. This way, she could absorb all the mana she wanted while not being tied to a certain geographical location.”

“Then we must defeat her as soon as possible,” Ritsuka remarked, although he knew just how impossible it is. Caster now has two Servants including Lancer, and no one knows where the Red Servant is or who he sided with. It was simply too dangerous.

“Which is why…which is why I’d like to propose an alliance with Illyasviel,” Mash said, hesitantly. Ritsuka was surprised, but he held his tongue. “Berserker seemed to be the natural enemy of Caster. Caster may have a lot of mana, but Berserker have a lot of lives. While they fight, we could work on saving Lancer.”

“But what about Kuzuki-sensei?” Ritsuka asked, and at his question, Mash suppressed a sigh. 

“You’re right. I forgot about him. There’s two of us…I could take Caster, but that would leave you with him.”

Ritsuka opened his mouth to say that he could try and take him on, but Mash cuts him off by standing up all of a sudden. 

“Right. I think we probably should rest first, senpai,” she said, with a tone that brooks no argument. “We could discuss plans after plans until the sun rises, but nothing would work unless we rest and recover ourselves.”

Ritsuka wanted to say something more, wanted to thank her, at least, but she smiled at him, hand already at the door.

“I’ll be sleeping at the other guest room. Good night, senpai, or should I say, good morning.”

“Good night, Mash. Thank you for…for everything,” Ritsuka managed to say, and Mash gave him another smile before she left the room. 

Ritsuka sighed and rubbed his temple, still thinking about the king and the dream, Lancer and his landscape, but followed her not long after.

* * *

When has time becoming such a blur? 

He doesn’t know anymore. He remembered some things vaguely—the bookstore, Ritsuka’s smile, the cold sweetness of the ice cream and the tang of vanilla melting in his tongue—and things before then: the Summoning, the fight with Berserker, the encounter with Assassin. But Lancer—once known as Arthur Pendragon, Uther’s own dragon, a long, long time ago—could not hold his memories in linear thinking anymore, could not hold them and think, oh, this is my own, no, not ever since the witch spirited him away.

He could not even remember his own wish.

_She_ did not make him kill his Master and watch. _She_ did not make him attack and desecrate neutral ground. No, she is crueler than that.

She let his Master get away—he was quite certain that it was intentional—and she attacked and desecrated the neutral ground on her own. And she made him watch. Oh, how she made him watch.

He heard her own Master reprimanded her, vaguely, for acting on her own, but that didn’t tear them apart. If anything—if anything—her Master is now even more certain of her victory.

Lancer did not want to help her.

He didn’t want to kill his Master, even if Ritsuka had handed him over and betrayed his trust. He didn’t want to kill his Master, even if Ritsuka had somehow, somehow, bypassed his defence, all the walls he’d built for years and years to keep people out. He remembered his words, vaguely, about how he was afraid of letting other people get close to him, of how he was afraid of letting _Ritsuka_ gets close to him, echoing in the dark-that-is-not-the-end, and he could only smile, wryly, mentally, at how true it was.

Arthur Pendragon was a coward after all.

He detected another Servant’s presence. He opened one of his eyes, hoping against all hope that it wasn’t the witch.

It was her pet in the red coat.

Lancer could never read his status and parameters, other than the fact that he is an Archer-class Servant.

“If you’re somehow hoping that you could get information about me or my Master this time,” he told him, as he approached him, “you were wrong. I will not disclose such things.”

The red Archer didn’t stop, only raised a pale, white eyebrow. 

“Oh, since when did I fish for information?” He said, stopping some distance away to observe him. “I only stopped by to chat.”

“If by ‘chat’ you mean to gather information,” Lancer retorted, only stuttering slightly due to his condition, imposed upon him by Caster.

“No, I’m just genuinely curious. About you and your Master,” he said, only seem to be a little terribly amused by Lancer’s situation. “And I’d reckon you’re bored, so it only seemed fair to try and strike up a conversation with you.”

“You don’t seem like a people’s person,” Lancer told him, sarcastically. 

“No, I once was,” he said, smiling slightly, though not at him, but wistfully. “But that was a long time ago.”

“Everything seemed like a long time ago to us Heroic Spirits,” he said, nearly conversationally. “But that’s beside the point. Didn’t your _Master_ need your assistance?”

“…she’s not my Master,” Archer said, surprisingly. He suddenly turned to a side, sensing a presence. Lancer sensed her, too. “And she’s here. You probably should learn how to behave, Lancer. Just an afterthought.”

The man started to turn and walked away, and Lancer nearly envied him for that.

“Thank you for your concern, Archer,” he said, dryly. “I will remember that.”

“You’re welcome,” the other Servant said, with something that was close to a genuine smile.

A ghost of a thought, fleeting and disconcerting, made itself known: _perhaps a version of me knows you, somewhere_. It was like what Saber told him.

But before he could capture the elusive thought, before Archer’s smile fully disappeared, a woman appeared in the doorway. 

“Archer,” she says, smiling underneath her hood, “how nice of you to make our newest ally comfortable.”

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ritsuka and Mash seek to form an alliance with Illyasviel, while Lancer had to deal with Caster. Saber detected an unknown assailant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am also filled with dread since I haven't had time to plan the next chapter, but I promise I will soon!! Things are all pretty much in place right now *rubs hands together evilly*
> 
> Also, I'm sorry in advance for what will happen in this chapter. I tried to circumvent it (which is why it took me a while now to update lol), but things wouldn't be the same.
> 
> OK, enjoy <3

Ritsuka still remembered the way to the castle, trudging through the forest full of traps and bare trees. They had rested earlier and discussed their plans; they had agreed that they would determine the details about the rescuing later, after they made their alliance with Illyasviel. 

Neither said anything about the possibility of her rejecting the proposal, whether outright or otherwise. 

After all, they had pretty much nothing to offer in return. Mash had Saber and her own magic, of course, but Saber’s parameters are nothing compared to Berserker or Lancer, and her magic, strong and focused that it was, are nearly purely defensive. They are spells to enhance and to protect, not to attack or create what’s already there. They had theorised that it may complete Illyasviel’s armaments—because she seemed like she was purely on the offensive—but she could still reject their offer. 

And the possibility of her rejecting is quite large, to put it very mildly.

“We should be in the castle soon,” Mash said, leading the way, breaking Ritsuka’s train of thoughts. She’d used a spell to avoid the traps, though occasionally they still encounter one or two every now and then, and she had to disarm them. Thankfully, there were no sign of the cliff that Ritsuka had encountered with Lancer, and they did not encounter anything worse.

Still, Ritsuka couldn’t shake the ominous feeling that something awaits them at the castle.

“Mash, I know you didn’t want me to ask, but…” Ritsuka said, after a moment of silence, trudging after her. “Why did you participate in the Holy Grail War?”

_You could not participate_ , is what he’s probably trying to say, but he averted his thoughts from the words. He did not want to offend her, or provoke her in any way. He was simply curious, and perhaps…perhaps he felt more than a little protective of her. She was, in a way, like his little sister. 

She stopped for a moment, and Ritsuka followed suit. She did not resumed walking for a while.

“There’s a trap ahead of us,” she said, conversationally. “I don’t think we can avoid it, but we can try,” she continued. “And as for your question, senpai…”

There was a long silence between them, though Ritsuka did not sense any anger or anything of the like from her, at all. In fact, he sensed…determination. 

“I participated because…although my family is not one of the Three Great Families, I am still bound to participate,” she said, stopping for a short moment again, turning slightly towards him, and Ritsuka could see the determination he sensed in her eyes. “And…I have a wish, senpai. I do not know the details of it yet, but I have a wish. That is why I wanted the Holy Grail.”

“But you worked together with me,” Ritsuka pointed out, not unkindly. “You could simply leave me behind, especially now, Mash.”

She shook her head vigorously. 

“No, I could not leave you behind. Even if we are Masters…no, even if we are supposed to be enemies, I couldn’t simply leave you behind, senpai. You know me better than that,” she said.

It struck a chord in him. Of course, she is right. He nodded, understanding her reasoning better now.

“Yes, I know you better than that, Mash. I’m sorry if I questioned you,” Ritsuka told her, giving her a smile. “I will never leave you behind, too. Or Lancer. That is why I wanted to save him.”

“And I will help you, senpai. We will defeat Caster together,” she declared, and Ritsuka believed her. “Now, shall we get going? I have a feeling Illyasviel is waiting for us.”

* * *

The witch was smiling underneath her hood, as if she dropped in for a friendly chat or to have tea, not to check on her minions. _Minions_. The word almost made Lancer laugh out loud. He still couldn’t believe that he was here, with her, under her control, or nearly so, and yet.

And yet, he still preferred to think of himself as something she could not touch. Not yet. Not as long as he had the will in him to reject the Command Spell she had placed upon him.

“Huh. I was not trying to make him comfortable,” Archer said, perfectly casual, matching the witch tone by tone. “I was merely curious about your newest acquisition.”

“Ah. I did not obtain him by force, you see,” she said, still smiling in repose, the devil playing the saint. But there was nothing saintly about her, and she was a glaring blight in the holy place. “I simply asked his Master to give him to me. And he did, interestingly enough,” she continued. “Does that satisfy your curiosity, Archer?”

“Well enough,” the stoic man in the red coat said, and the strange feeling he had earlier returned—that somewhere a version of him knows this man—but he turned away, accidentally meeting the witch’s hooded gaze.

She smiled.

“Leave us, Archer,” she said in a commanding tone, striding casually in the aisle towards the altar, where she’d forcefully placed him ever since she took the Church for herself and her Master. “I wanted to have a friendly chat with my newest Servant.”

“As you wish, lady,” Archer said, bowing slightly, leaving through the exit.

_And he said that Caster wasn’t his Master_ , Lancer thought, sarcastically, though he quickly directed his attention to the more pressing matter at hand. 

“And here we are, finally,” Caster said, after a long moment of silence, stopping just in front of him. “I am surprised that you still managed to resist, Lancer.”

When she put him there, she forced him to kneel—not towards the altar, but towards the opposite direction, so she could see him and make him watch everything that transpired—with his hands bound by thin magical ropes in front of him. And, perhaps to humiliate him further, she’d put on a _suit_ on him—a two-piece suit, royal blue underneath black—with magic.

It was all so ridiculous, and if it wasn’t for the Command Spell forcing his body to kill hisMaster while he’s trying to resist _while_ the witch forced him to remain in one place, Arthur would have laughed. 

She stepped closer, then, taking his silence as resistance, and forced him to look at her, thin, cold fingertips underneath his chin, and she used her free hand to pull down her hood, revealing the face of a beautiful, purple-haired woman with pointed ears. 

She reminded him of someone else, someone close to him by blood, someone Arthur would rather not remember. 

“Ah, still so cold, I see,” she said, kneeling slightly, her other hand caressing his cheek. “So handsome, and yet so cold. I wonder what is it that makes you this way.”

He wanted to spat on her, wanted to flinch away from her touch, but he couldn’t do anything—his mind was entirely focused on trying to repel the Command Spell—and he knows that he could not afford to show weakness in front of her.

“Are you not going to answer me?” She said, clearly trying to provoke him, her smile turning just a tiny bit seductive, her touch provocative. “Or are you too busy trying to fight my command?”

“I found your yapping disgusting, witch,” he finally told her, giving her the coldest glare he could manage. The effect was immediate, as her smile, too, turned cold and calculating.

“A witch, isn’t it? That’s what they all call me,” she said, and Lancer sensed that he’d managed to push one of her buttons. “But a witch accomplished _things_ ,” she continued, running a finger on the line of his jaw, as if she was admiring him, but the look in her eyes were cold, far away. Strangely, Lancer couldn’t help but listen to her closely, as if she was imparting a secret. “Warriors like you exist to fight and die. But we, wise women we were, knew better. My teacher taught me as much.”

“The only good witch is a dead witch,” Arthur told her, looking her in the eye. _Sister sister dead sister_ , a part of him told him. He remembered the hill, the corpses, the war, the betrayal. The inevitable end of his kingdom. His transformation after that. The shining city that he managed to rebuild, in the aftermath. His throne. His advisor, his knights.

The end of the world.

“You—“ she exclaimed, her hands going straight to his throat, and Arthur braced himself for the inevitable, for the impact. But it never happened. She pulled away her hands from his throat, and composed herself. 

“I swear to you, Lion King,” she said, pulling him closer like a lover, whispering in his ear. “King of Storms, Protector of the World’s End…I would kill your Master,” she told him. “And then I would kill you. In the meanwhile,” she pulled back, sliding her hand underneath his collar just enough to make him feel her touch, to make him _feel_ her, and he’d never felt so disgusted before, “I would have fun watching you try to resist my command. And I could do whatever I wanted to do with you,” she continued, hands hovering above his topmost button underneath his tie, and he wanted nothing more but to push her away, but thankfully, she withdrew her hands and straightened up herself.

“I would also win the Holy Grail for my Master. Ah, what a perfect victory that will be,” she pulled up her hood again, chuckling, self-satisfied. As if she was a victor already. Once more, Arthur wanted to laugh.

“Everyone can dream, I suppose,” he remarked, stoically, but she evidently doesn’t care, as she’d turned and started walking away.

Then he was alone again in the empty Church, dreaming of his Master and days long gone.

* * *

Ritsuka was standing on a hill overlooking the castle with Mash, both of them not talking much after their conversation earlier, instead sharing a comfortable, trusting silence. They had arrived, at last, at the snow-covered castle, after a trek that feels like eternity. 

Time is of the essence here, and although Ritsuka knows that they did not actually walk for that long, he still felt more nervous for every second that passed. After all, for every second that passed, the witch is growing in power, and Lancer is with her. 

He had no idea what she’s doing with him, or what she had in store for him in terms of long-term plans (other than killing him and Mash), but he had a terrible, oppressing feeling in his stomach, and he does not want to think about it. 

“Here we are, senpai,” Mash said, turning slightly to look at him. Despite them having already rested, and despite the breakfast Ritsuka made for both of them—they left Taiga asleep for now—she looked tired, still, though she tried her best to cover it, just like him. The war is taking its toll on both of them, and Ritsuka realised that their concern mirrored each other, and that the look on Saber’s face that he gave them when they told him about their plan earlier was very much justified. 

“How is Saber?” He asked, since the aforementioned Servant had gone on ahead to scout the castle. 

“He said that it’s safe—“ Mash said, though a moment later, her eyes widened, and she staggered lightly. Ritsuka surged forward to catch her, but she managed to straightened herself. “No. Saber, I am telling you, pull back _now_. Please. If you really had to…” she trailed off, and Ritsuka felt the dread that he felt ever since they started the excursion returned, as if this trip had been doomed from the start.

Perhaps it was.

“Mash, is there something wrong?” He asked, deeply concerned. She shook her head vigorously, but Ritsuka knows that she still wasn’t talking to him. She was still talking to Saber.

“If you really had to. But please…please stay back. Don’t engage the Servant,” she said, then turned back towards Ritsuka. “There’s another Servant, senpai. It’s not Berserker.”

“Then…who it is?” Ritsuka asked, feeling the dread in the bottom of his stomach building up, his mind racing. Lancer was with Caster. Saber was ahead, and Berserker was in the castle with Illyasviel, presumably. Rider was dead. Assassin was guarding the gate to the Temple, according to Lancer. The red Servant, who he’d like to think as Archer, was pretty much unknown, whether in terms of location or identity.

He could only theorise that it was Archer. But his gut feeling says otherwise. 

_There are only seven Servants_ , he reminded himself. Mash still looked shaken, though she seemed to have calmed down a little now. 

“Was it the red Servant? Archer?” He continued, since he found no response from his junior. 

Mash shook her head. 

“I don’t know, senpai. I ordered Saber not to get too close,” she said.

“It’s probably for the best,” Ritsuka said, grimly. “I think we should stay back,” he told her. “It isn’t safe.”

“Yes, I agree. I told Saber to keep us informed, but to pull back after he got enough information,” Mash said.

He could only nod, but he felt the dreadful feeling growing bigger, nearly swallowing him whole.

* * *

Saber was ahead of them, near the castle, scouting for danger. 

His Master had given him orders to scout ahead—she would handle magical traps and he would handle anything else—and, although he had his own objections towards the plan, his honour and the contract bound him to obey his Master.

He’d always looked at his Master with an unspoken question—why did you make a contract with a Servant who can’t keep his words? 

Perhaps in another version of the story, in another universe, another world, another version of him managed to return the Sword to the lake. The king that he met in this era—Lancer—was very much similar to the king he knows back from where he came from.

He wanted to believe that this story would ended differently, that perhaps…perhaps if he returned the silver arm the Mage of Flowers had given him to Lancer, even if he’s not _his_ king…perhaps some part of history could still be corrected. 

Perhaps Lancer could regain his humanity. He’d seen how he looked at Ritsuka. He’d seen how the two interacted. 

His train of thought, then, was interrupted by his detection of another Servant. The other Servant appeared so suddenly and so immediately, that he nearly missed it. Saber, then, did what a good Servant supposed to do: he told his Master about it immediately.

Mash told him to stay back. She sounded so shaken even if Saber had remained calm in the face of imminent danger. 

Even if he had to watch the golden man slaughter two maids singlehandedly, two homunculi women that he assumed was Illyasviel’s guardians. 

The slaughter was terrible and inhumane—there were blood and guts everywhere, and although Saber was not a stranger to them, the sight of the two women, so twisted in death, nearly made him retch. It was something that his king would condemn, before her transformation.

It was something that _he_ would condemn. 

He considered it for a while, torn between keeping his word to his Master or break his word— _again_ —and go after the golden man, perhaps buying some time for Mash and Ritsuka to form an alliance with Illyasviel, even if only temporarily. He closed his eyes, still at a distance where the other Servant could not see or detect him—which means that he could not see the other’s parameters clearly, either—before opening it, making his decision.

“I’m sorry, Mash,” he said, before he went off to challenge the golden man.

He already knows that he will never see his king again, and that his wish would remain forever unfulfilled. 

He already knows that this is how the story ends, and that there will not be another ending.

 


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ritsuka and Mash tried to form an alliance with Illyasviel, but the unexpected has happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof, apparently I made two other small mistakes: Arthur's horse is the Dun Stallion instead of Llamrei because he isn't his Alter self, and also, it was supposed to be the Einzbern _mansion_ , not their castle. But since I already wrote castle, I'm just gonna stick with it. Sorry for the mistakes!
> 
> Also, I couldn't stop listening to Cigarettes After Sex, so that probably has to do with all the (su)rrealistic dream scenes and the angst.
> 
> Enjoy!

He was there when Mash fell to her knees.

She didn’t cry, though she did sob, but she held back her tears, like a proper mage would. She was always like that, Ritsuka thought. She’d always tried to stay strong for him. And he, in return, had always tried to remain strong for her, too. They always tried to protect each other ever since they’d known each other, as if they were bound by something, not the protector and the protected, but equals, bound by the red string of fate. 

Part of him had always known that it would come to this. He balled his hand into a fist. 

“Let’s go, senpai,” Mash said, her voice only wavering slightly, straightening herself up. She wiped her tears furiously with her sleeves, and Ritsuka lets her. He wanted to hug her, wanted to tell her that everything is going to be alright, and perhaps, perhaps the him who’d only summoned Lancer accidentally would, weeks ago when he first got dragged into the war. But he can’t, not anymore. 

He’d started understanding the urgency of the situation, and what Kirei had told him. 

“I won’t let Saber, no, Sir Bedivere’s sacrifice go in vain,” she said, and Ritsuka believed her, believed in the power of her conviction.

How naive they were.

It was too late anyway. The golden man steps easily over Berserker’s gigantic body, cutting open Illyasviel’s twisted body like it was only a lifeless doll. Both of them had wanted to go out of hiding and challenge the then-mysterious Servant, but they know that they had nothing, and they will die for nothing, if they did that.

So they hid, tears streaming down Mash’s face, like an endless river, and Ritsuka throws up in the corner after he was gone.

At least they found out the identity of the Servant’s Master, and his True Name. 

“It- it’s obvious,” Mash said, stepping towards Illyasviel’s body in the aftermath, so bloody and yet so peaceful, like a little girl in repose, though Ritsuka couldn’t forget her menace. Her loneliness, so plain now in the huge, empty, ruined snow-covered castle. “We should have known the identity of that Servant in the first place…” she tucked the dead’s girl other arm—she had reached out to hold Berserker’s hand, in her last moments—on her chest, did her best so that she looked as if she was sleeping, despite all the blood and guts. “Now what do we do?”

Before his idealism’s end, Ritsuka would tell her that they are going to fight no matter what. That they are going to free Lancer from Caster’s influence, and defeat the witch in the process. But now…now he had no words to say. 

In the cold, empty, snow-covered castle, with the grand decor and all the glory of the old Einzbern family, he felt tears roll down his cheeks as he watched Mash cried over the body of the dead little girl, who never get to achieve her wish.

Perhaps none of them would never get to achieve it, and Ritsuka had started to realise the true nature of the Holy Grail: that it was cruel.

And yet, and yet. Part of him still wanted it, if only to validate what he and Mash had gone through.

* * *

So they hatched another plan. A suicidal one. They would challenge Caster to a battle, where Ritsuka would keep Kuzuki occupied. In the meanwhile, Mash would focus all her mana to an ultimate spell, something that could turn the tide of the battle. 

They waited until it was dark.

Ritsuka remembered these: first, another dream.

Again, he saw the king, this time without his armour, a regal red cloak billowing behind him, a golden crown atop his head, looking out over the city, the perfect, silver-hued city, from atop his perfect, silver-hued castle.

Ritsuka walked to his side.

“A dream,” he said, nearly without realising, hoping, subconsciously, that he had a cloak like the king did, because the winds were quite strong, carrying the many and varied scents of the city. “Again.”

The king didn’t move, didn’t turn to him with recognition in his eyes like he did before, but remained mute and unmoving, looking at the city’s skyline.

“Where are we?” Ritsuka finally asked, shielding his eyes from the winds with his hand.

“The place where nothing ever changes,” the perfect king said, not sparing him a glance. “The place where time stops. The place at the end of the world.”

Ritsuka raised an eyebrow, not awed by his perfection, but wondering where the mask ends and where the human underneath begins. Where the king ends and the man he was starting to get to know begins.

“Why so?” He asked, again, curious, shifting his gaze temporarily towards the city, and realising that the king was watching over everything, and nothing at all. 

“Because it is the end of the world,” he said, finally turning slightly to face him. “And because I do not allow things to change. My knights and I kept a perfect order.”

“A perfect city at the end of the world, where nothing ever grows old or die,” Ritsuka found himself saying, not exactly knowing where it came from. The king, for all his perceived aloofness, seemed to smile slightly at his words. “A perfect repository of human souls.”

“That is correct,” he said, turning his fierce, yet aloof green eyes back towards the world. “That is what we are striving for. Would you not agree, unknown mage? Would you not do the same, if you were tasked with protecting your people at the end of the world?”

Now he turned fully towards Ritsuka, his gaze savage and unrelenting, like a force of nature. Ritsuka considered his question in his mind, before stepping forward.

“No,” he said, surprisingly forceful. “I will not do that. I’m trying to save humanity, but I suppose your method and I differed. However…” he trailed off, his gaze softening, looking up at the man who was to become his Servant, the man who’d caused so much grief and pain and love and affection and who caused his heart to become so restless, “however, I believe you can change. The you I know has changed.”

“Change?” The king echoed, the words ringing in Ritsuka’s ears like the sound of a blade meeting another. “I have killed millions in order to save dozens. Do you think I can still be changed?”

There was a hint of bitterness in his voice, and Ritsuka felt his heart waver, for a moment, saying _murderer murderer murderer_ , and he took a step back, unconsciously, but he rediscovered his resolve, and took two steps forward.

“Not change, then,” Ritsuka told him. “I believe…I believe you can still go back towards being human,” he said, stepping close, looking up at him. “The path is there,” he whispered. “And I wish…I still wish you’d tell me your True Name yourself.”

“I-“

Ritsuka stepped forward to cover the distance between them, to seal it with a kiss that he’d always wanted to do, but the dream ended.

After the dream, came the mysterious Servant with the red coat.

He appeared in the Church’s courtyard, when they were approaching the entrance.

“You,” Ritsuka said, his eyes widening. “You were the one who killed me.”

“I couldn’t object to that, sadly,” his murderer said, closing his eyes with an ironic smile before opening them again.

“Why did you do that?” Mash asked. “Why did you hurt senpai?”

He raised an eyebrow, and Ritsuka readies himself for a fight. 

“I have my own reasons,” he said. “You came here to kill Caster, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Ritsuka answered. “Yes and no. We came here to defeat her. Are you here to block our path?”

There was a long, tense silence where he and Mash readied themselves for a fight, but instead of summoning his twin short swords—Ritsuka remembered them from his memory—he smirks, and moves aside.

“I am in no business to obstruct your path,” he told them. “Carry on forward. She’s waiting inside.”

Then he remembered the _pain_.

The pain that he felt because he had to fight on his own, with his own source of mana. He tried his best to copy the weapons and fighting styles of the Servants that he’d encountered, but Kuzuki is both strong and fast. He could only pray and hope that Mash is faring better, that she was building up towards her final spell.

Mash is not faring much better, and just one glance at her caused him so much pain—so much that part of him prayed for it to just stop already. 

But he witnessed it, the moment she recited the spell, lashing out towards the witch in order to trick Kuzuki into saving her, and it worked, a defensive spell that turns all her magical energy towards her Master, but at the end, the witch revealed her true allegiance, and saved her Master.

“My wish…had been granted,” she told him, caressing his face, with an unexpectedly gentle look on her now-exposed face. She was just a woman in that moment, a woman touching the face of the man she loved. “A moment ago. Goodbye, Master.”

She disappeared into golden dust, another girl that would never get her wish. 

And with that, her spell on Lancer was broken. 

Ritsuka wanted to hurry towards his Servant, but he doesn’t know yet if Kuzuki will stand in his way or not.

“I only wanted to send her home,” the man who was formerly his teacher told him, before slumping in a corner. “Now go. Leave me be.”

* * *

Time seemed to slow into a stop. 

He could remember the moment when he noticed that the girl had challenged the witch into a sorcery duel, and that his Master was with her. They both looked haggard and worn out, but at least they are still alive, and even if his mind is occupied with trying to do the impossible—repelling the Command Spell placed on him to kill his Master, amped up several degrees by the presence of said person—even if Arthur had nearly forgotten what it was like, he could feel that a small part of him was grateful that they are alright.

He wanted to heave his damned uncooperative body up and help them, against all odds, but the witch’s spells were simply too strong.

He didn’t know how long the battle lasted—it could be minutes, hours, or even days—but he watched the end of the witch, watched her caressed her Master’s face and disappeared in a sea of golden dust. He had no mercy for her, but he could tell that his Master does, from the look on his face.

Oh, his Master. How naively unrelenting and how unrelentingly naive he was, even after all this time.

The magical ropes disappeared along with her and with it, his pact with her. But he wasn’t safe, because the moment the witch disappeared, nothing anchors his body to the physical world any longer.

“Ritsuka,” he manages, as the boy approached him quickly in the aftermath, concern written all over his face, “form a pact with me.”

“But I-“ the boy hesitated for a moment, and Lancer nearly scowled at him. “I don’t know how.”

“Give me your hand and repeat after me: your flesh shall serve under me, and my fate shall be with your sword,” he told him, only a bit impatiently. He could feel parts of him about to dissolve, carrying his Spirit Origin with it. 

“Do it, senpai,” the purple-haired girl said, through her own exhaustion, and Ritsuka’s eyes focused upon him, then, resolute, as he reached out towards him. 

“Your flesh shall serve under me,” he recited, and Lancer could feel the power of the words, could feel his own power returning, even if he is still not at his full potential. “And my fate shall be with your sword.”

A blinding light appeared, as they joined hands, separating them by force, and once it disappeared, he raised himself up to his full height. Ritsuka looked confused at first, awed at both the light and the Command Spells that had reappeared on the back of his hand, but he quickly composed himself. He opened his mouth, about to say something, but was interrupted by a now-familiar voice.

“I hate to interrupt moments like this,” Archer said, and Lancer quickly summoned hisholy spear. “But I must interrupt. I’m afraid pointing _that_ at me wouldn’t work,” he said, gesturing towards the spear Lancer had pointed towards him. 

Because now they could see clearly that he was holding Mash, preventing her from escaping, even if she's struggling against him.

“Yes, I also hate to be the bad guy in the situation here, but you see, I need to talk to _you_ ,” he gestured towards Ritsuka. “And what better way to get you to listen but to hold someone you hold dear hostage?”

“Let me fight him, Master,” he told him, although he know by now that his request most likely falls on deaf ears, “I promise I will be careful.”

“Let me go, or—“ Mash told him, struggling in his arms, but the man in the red coat recited something under his breath, and she fell limp, asleep. He hoisted her on his shoulder, then, like she was dead meat, and Lancer could feel waves of his Master’s anger radiating from him, could feel his pure, unadulterated _fury_ , and it terrifies him. 

He surges forward, only to feel Ritsuka’s hand on his chest, stopping him.

Archer raised an eyebrow, looking as amused as ever. 

“Come to the Einzbern castle before dawn, tomorrow,” he said. “If you didn’t, I’ll kill her.”

With those words, he was gone, leaving them alone in the ruined Church, along with the shell of Caster’s former Master.

Ritsuka sighed a long sigh, pulling away his hand, hugging himself, as if the world had finally gotten into him and broke him to pieces.

Arthur hated it. He never wanted to see his Master like this.

“Master—“ he started, then quickly corrected himself. “Ritsuka. Let us start over.”

The boy—who had slowly became a man in a span of a few weeks—turned to face him, grief in his blue eyes, and Arthur could feel the growing tenderness in him, like it had been winter, and suddenly…suddenly there was spring. He did not know how else to describe it, for he was no poet.

There was a questioning look in his eyes, too, and Arthur gave him a smile that his old self would have given him, a smile that was not unkind, a smile that he nearly forgot how to do. 

He got on his knees, a knight before he was a king, even in a modern day suit, reaching out for Ritsuka’s hand.

“Arthur Pendragon, Lancer-class Servant. With my spear that reached the farthest edges of the world, I will become your power,” he said, smiling up at him, before kissing his hand. “You said…you said that you wanted to know my True Name.”

Ritsuka looked surprised, in a good way, and he smiled, though there were tears in his eyes. 

“I thought you’d never told me,” he said, scolding him lightly, and Arthur straightened himself up, though he did not yet release Ritsuka’s hand. 

“I was waiting for the right time,” he told him, savouring each moment of his smile and the way his hand trembled when he held it, before he finally released it. “Now, Master. Shall we go and save humanity?”

Ritsuka still smiled at him through his tears, and Arthur felt a new desire in him. He wanted to kiss him, wanted to kiss away his tears. This time, he did not look away.

“Of course,” Ritsuka told him, and kissed him on the cheek. Despite the salty tang of tears that he felt, it was a beautiful, lovely gesture, and Arthur had just realised how much he craved—no, _yearned_ for—a human touch.

He could felt his heart break, again, but this time out of sublimation, out of love, the beauty of knowing that Ritsuka—to some degree at least—returned his sentiments.

He knows that he would never be the same again.

 


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ritsuka and Arthur, in the aftermath of Caster's destruction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took me quite a while, this week had been hell and this was quite a difficult chapter to write. I hope that it is enjoyable, though! We'll get to the endgame soon, I promise.
> 
> Enjoy!

The moon hangs high in the sky that night, full as a maiden’s bright face, overlooking the house that stood quietly under the dark shawl of the night sky.

Ritsuka sat in front of his room, leaving the door leading to it open, looking at the full moon, remembering a similar scene.

He remembered a little boy, sitting there with his father, under the light of the same moon, many winters ago. He remembered a little boy, wide-eyed, looking at both the moon and his father in wonder. He couldn’t remember exactly what they were talking about, then, but he did remember his father saying that he was too old now to save humanity.

“Then…dad, I will be a hero and save humanity for you,” the little boy told his father, then, cheerfully.

Instead of rebuking him, instead of telling him that it’s impossible, that it’s preposterous, just a childish wish, his father smiled, slowly, reaching out to ruffle his hair.

“Thank you, Ritsuka,” he said. “I can’t save everyone, but maybe…maybe you can.”

Both father and moon was his witness, but now he was sitting there alone, feeling that even the moon has changed. Or perhaps…perhaps the change was in him. 

He’d been thinking about his wish, about that day ten years ago when his father rescued him from the fire that ravaged the city. He’d been thinking about the events since then, the events that led to the present—the things he’d seen, and the things he’d experienced.

Put it simply, he was mulling over his wish.

Father and moon, only one remained, a mute witness to everything that had occurred ever since the Holy Grail War begins.

Father and moon, only one remained, stone-cold and lifeless as a sculpture, bloodless and pale.

How did he came to the conclusion that he _could_ save humanity, in any way?

“Master,” a familiar voice interrupted his thoughts. “I thought you were asleep.”

“Ah,” he said, a little bit embarrassed being caught red-handed, because earlier, during dinner, he did told the other man that he was going to rest. Before the inevitable, before tomorrow. “I’m sorry…I couldn’t sleep.”

A small silence followed, and Ritsuka stole a glance at the other man. He was standing near the doorway, wearing the clothes that he’d first worn when he finally decided to wear something other than his armour, green eyes unreadable. 

“You were thinking of something,” he stated, crossing his hands in front of his chest. “You did not speak too much during dinner. Your attention is elsewhere. You are thinking of the girl, Mash Kyrielight.”

He was stating the obvious, at least for the last part—because Ritsuka did not realise that he’d been zoning out during dinner, although it’s true that their conversation were a bit stilted because of that—but Ritsuka smiled at him.

“Lancer,” he said, patting the empty space beside him. “Sit beside me.”

“She’ll be alright,” he insisted, before gingerly taking up his offer and sitting beside him, still unconsciously putting some distance between them. “We’ll rescue her tomorrow.”

“It’s still a long time away, though,” Ritsuka sighed. “I wonder if…if Archer harms her in any way. I wonder if he is really going to kill her.”

“He may seem like it, but the man has his own sense of justice,” Lancer said, and Ritsuka could sense that he actually did not want to phrase it that way, that he was about to say something more, something…blunt, but held himself back. Though what he says rings true in his ears, for some reason. “At least, from what I can gather.”

Perhaps that is his way of reassuring him. Ritsuka gave him another smile.

“Thank you,” he told him, noticing how their hands sat near each other in the small distance that Lancer has created. “I really hope she will be alright.”

There was a quiet that follows, a quiet that echoes the moon, as they both looked at it and decided to share the silence, comfortable now with only each other’s presence. 

“I have to tell you,” Ritsuka said, nearly abruptly, and he could immediately feel Lancer’s questioning look on him. “There is another Servant. An Eighth one. His name is—“

“Do not tell me,” his Servant said, narrowing his eyes. Ritsuka could sense something like anger, but it’s ambiguous and vague enough that it was nearly unreadable. “I have several guesses about his identity.”

“But how did you—“

“It was a story for another time,” he said, making it clear that he did not want to talk about it. “It’s late. You should probably get some rest.”

Ritsuka couldn’t help but felt a pang of disappointment. He’d always knew that Lancer had always preferred to keep things to himself, but he knows that there was something, that he was on to something. That there is a missing link that he nearly found. 

The other man stood up. 

“Arthur,” Ritsuka called out, before he could close the conversation. “Wait,” he said, quickly standing up as well. He could see the brief surprise on the other man’s face—it was his first time he called him by his True Name, ever since their trip back from the ruined church. 

“Yes?” He responded, only a little clipped, mostly surprised, turning back slightly. Ritsuka held back a smile because he did not change, in some respects, not the slightest.

“Do tell me about it when the time comes,” he said, smiling at him.

“I will, Master,” he said, nodding. “Anything else?”

Ritsuka takes his time making his way towards him, closing the distance between them, tiptoeing to kiss him on the lips, one hand pulling him closer by the arm. He tasted a little like dinner and tea, but mostly something that reminded him of when the air is charged with an incoming thunderstorm, and the cold, clear air of winter mornings. 

He could feel the other’s hesitance at first, but he returned the kiss, only slightly confused, and Ritsuka smiled against his lips, satisfied. 

“I- I don’t remember…requesting a mana transfer, Master,” his Servant said, in the aftermath of the kiss, Ritsuka’s hand still grasped his arm. “I- I mean. Ritsuka,” he added, mumbling, face turning red from embarrassment. 

“A mana transfer?” Ritsuka asked, genuinely confused. “No, I was just kissing you. No reason needed, although…” he remembered the last dream he had about him, and smiled privately. “I do have my own reasons.”

“Oh,” Lancer said, weakly, and Ritsuka’s smile turned mischievous. 

“So you can transfer mana through kissing?” He asked, partially curiously, but mostly wanting to tease Arthur on their newfound intimacy. 

“Well, y- yes,” Arthur responded. “The mana is transferred through the saliva.”

“Oh. Interesting,” Ritsuka remarked, and once more smiled, this time innocently. “Perhaps we should do it more often, then?”

He could see just how flustered Arthur is now, and he nearly felt sorry for him, except he didn’t, not really. After all, he did miss teasing him like this. But, but, instead of looking away like he used to, his Servant managed a small smile. 

“Yes. Perhaps,” he said. “I would love that. But for now…” he reached out and touched Ritsuka’s hair, slowly, caressing it affectionately. “For now, let’s get some rest. We should be at full strength tomorrow.”

“I can’t argue with that,” Ritsuka told him. “Will you stay beside me tonight? Please?”

He thought, for a moment, that Arthur is going to rebuke him, that he’s going too far again, or that the other man will retreat back to his shell, but surprisingly, he nodded.

“Yes,” he said, his smile widening only ever so slightly, a sweet smile. “After all, it is my duty to protect you…my Master.”

Ritsuka smiled at him in return, and tiptoed once more to give him another kiss. 

Perhaps his idealism has met its end, but that end is only a beginning, with another who shared it.

The moon remained in the sky, silvery and eternal.

* * *

Morning comes in white, even in paradise—or what feels like a slice of it—a different hue than the moon, touched with gold as the sun rises, the air cold and clear, though Ritsuka felt none of it, since he was wrapped snugly under a blanket, with Arthur by his side.

He woke up first, blue eyes blinking the veil of sleep away. He was asleep on his back, just like that day, and Arthur had one of his arms wrapped around him, face nearly touching his cheek, curled up closer than a heartbeat.

Ritsuka remembered their conversation before they fell asleep—he asked Arthur to tell him a story, just like that night, and he complies—and felt a smile forming on his lips.

He felt the other stir, then, slowly, and turned his face slightly to face him.

“Master, good morning,” the other man whispered, sleepily still, though there was a touch of tenderness to it, and Ritsuka’s smile widens.

“Good morning,” he returned, in the same low tone of voice, whispering as if the two of them are sharing an intimate secret, as if they were the last two people in the world, and the fate of the world depends on their words. “Did you sleep well?”

“Well enough,” Arthur said, and sighed. “I no longer dreamt the long dream.”

“I know which one you mean,” Ritsuka said, kissing his cheek. “But that’s a story for another day.”

His Servant looked surprised, and Ritsuka had to laugh, giving him a mock wink. 

“You’re not the only one who can do that, you know…” Arthur said, pouting for a moment—which Ritsuka loved—and then proceeded to cup his face with one of his hands, bringing it closer for a kiss.

It was a sweet, tender kiss, quite unexpected coming from him, though at this point, Ritsuka wasn’t surprised anymore. He kissed him back, then was satisfied to let Arthur kiss him on the forehead.

“For good luck,” he said, and Ritsuka wanted to tease him, wanted to tell him that it’s not that, it’s probably because now that they’d started kissing he can’t stop, because he, too, can’t stop, but he gave him a coy smile instead.

“I already have plenty of fortune, with you by my side,” he told Arthur, and the other man laughed, briefly, the sound of it reminding Ritsuka of clear skies and _hope_ , as if the man in the dream doesn’t exist, has never existed at all. 

Perhaps he is remembering how to be human, he thought.

“Will you allow me to make you breakfast today, Master?” He said, the smile turning his features human, turning _him_ human, not letting Ritsuka’s waist go just yet. “You’ve worked hard yesterday. You should allow me to treat you.”

“Of course,” Ritsuka said, lazily pushing aside a stray blond lock from Arthur’s face. “But before that…perhaps we could stay in bed a bit more? Just for a bit? It’s cold.”

To emphasise his point, he gave him another kiss on the lips, this time lazily, taking his time with it.

“We don’t really have much time,” Arthur frowned, and Ritsuka couldn’t help but agree with him—after all, Mash is in danger, and they didn’t know what Archer is currently doing to her—but a part of him, as immutable as it is selfish, rejected the thought. 

He’d gone this far, and the warmth…Arthur’s warmth made him desire a moment unending, a moment that only encapsulate both of them, a moment that only belonged to them and them alone, and one that would never end.

It made him not only selfish, but also bold. After all, he’d never realised how lonely he is until another body—as warm as it is ephemeral—slept beside him in his bed.

Ritsuka pulled him until Arthur was on top of him, their bodies interlocking together, feeling the other stiffen in surprise. 

“It’s true,” Ritsuka said, sighing, feeling the other’s warmth seeping on to him and enjoying it tremendously, every moment of it, “but can you really deny this?” 

He saw the other’s face reddening, and understanding, intimately, that Arthur feels every movement deeply. Ritsuka pulled him in for another long, selfish kiss, feeling his morning arousal rubbing against Arthur’s thigh—and feeling, in return, _his_ morning arousal on his own thigh. He nearly smiled at the thought—now he knows that his Servant was capable of that, as well, and it was an amusing thought.

He did smile up at Arthur, wondering how long he can resist, when he knows how true it is. 

“I- I can’t,” Arthur finally managed, and yielded to the temptation of kissing his jaw, and Ritsuka sighed, rubbing himself against him for more friction, trying to find his lips, and finding himself failing, because his Servant had pulled away. “But we have to wait, Master.”

“You really are going to make me wait?” He asked, half-teasing, half-serious in an incredulous way, especially since the distance between them was rapidly increasing. 

“Yes,” Arthur told him, his tone a little bit clipped, once more businesslike, as he disentangled himself from Ritsuka and into a sitting position. “I have to. We are going to be late for breakfast.”

“We already are,” Ritsuka remarked, only more than a little disappointed, though he understood completely that his Servant was right. Archer, and especially Mash, is waiting for them. He can’t let Mash down because of…what? Loneliness? Hormones? He was nearly embarrassed with himself, though the memory of Arthur’s warmth and closeness lingered like a holy ghost. 

Despite that, Arthur stood up and straightened up himself, always the proper gentleman. He turned slightly to face him, faint winter sunlight that streamed in from the windows framing him in an almost heavenly light.

“What do you want for breakfast, Ritsuka?” He asked, giving him a small smile that seemed a little apologetic in nature.

“Surprise me,” Ritsuka told him, though in truth, he couldn’t imagine what could be more beautiful and satisfying than spending the morning with him in bed. “I’ll catch up with you later,” he added.

Lancer nodded, wordlessly, and turned around to leave, but he stopped for a moment in front of the door. 

“I promise you, Master…we’ll be together after the war,” he said, face turned away from him. From his vantage point, Ritsuka could see that one of his hands curled into a fist, and he wondered why, but he didn’t think about it much, drunk as he was in memories and steeped in his own fantasies about him. 

“After the war,” he echoed, and he saw him turned around again, giving him a smile that seemed a little too apologetic in nature, but he didn’t think about it much, either. “I’ll see you at breakfast.”

And off he go, leaving Ritsuka alone in bed, with the memories of his lips and eyes and tongue and skin. 

He sighed, and reached down, forgetting all about the war for the time being and replacing it with the memories he’d gathered and all the fantasies the other man had managed to spark in him.

He remembered, briefly, the curl of the fist, the all-too apologetic smile, the light tremble in Lancer’s voice when he said after the war, but it doesn’t last.

He came with his True Name on his lips, forgetting all about _hero_ and _father_ and _moon_ of last night. He came, Lancer’s True Name on his lips, his hand wet with his own seed.

_After the war_ seemed such a long time, but he’ll wait for him.

 


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ritsuka and Lancer confronted Archer in the Einzbern castle. A wild challenger appeared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ritsuka is surrounded by hot men. I'm actually jealous of him lmao. I'm sorry this is a bit shorter than usual, but please bear with me.
> 
> Enjoy!

He, out of all people, knew the cost of lying.

Perhaps it was because he continually lied to himself ever since he came to wield the sacred lance—ever since he lost his sacred sword—and he got away with it, because of the moral judgments he had to make as the king, or at least, he convinced himself as much.

Ritsuka…Ritsuka made him question his judgments, made him question _himself_.

Arthur had never been so sure of himself ever since he became something more than just a mere Heroic Spirit, but Ritsuka managed to make him question himself and his decisions. He remembered the dreams—fragments of it—of him in his city, meeting the then-unknown mage, how Ritsuka smiled at him. 

He already knows that Master and Servant shares a special bond, but never had he experienced something this…this intense.

He thought of Saber, too, of how the knight might have known something about his lost sacred sword, but carried the secret with him to his demise. His Master had told him about his noble sacrifice, and Arthur wanted to smile his secret smile. That only kind of deed could only belong to someone from the Round Table, even if he had forgot the knight’s name.

His only regret was that he didn’t get a chance to thank him for protecting his Master when he wasn’t there to do that.

He, too, thought about his wish, when he made breakfast, but he was pulled out of it when Ritsuka arrived. 

It was easy to forget everything when he was around.

But the confrontation was anything but forgettable.

The Einzbern castle was in ruins, smelling like rot and decay and misery, a ghastly lady in tatters, and there, they found Archer waiting for them atop the grand staircase. 

The girl was tied to a chair, but at least she looked safe. Lancer could feel the palpable relief emanating from his Master.

“Archer,” his Master called out, stepping in front of him. Arthur narrowed his eyes at him, still a little mad and more than a little stressed that he defies all common sense and the selfish logic of survival, even if he could have predicted it by now. “I’m here. Let’s talk.”

“Huh. You made it, boy. I thought you’d never make it,” Archer said, his words echoing in the ruins of the castle, only mocking him a little. Lancer wanted to blast him just for that, but, as if sensing his anger, Ritsuka—like in the church—places a hand on his chest, forbidding him to come forward. 

“Let’s just get to the point. What do you want?” Ritsuka asked. Archer looked down at them for a moment, a calculating look on his weathered face. The face of a broken man, Arthur thought. 

“As I said, I want to talk. And I wanted you to listen to me carefully…Master,” he said, to both of their surprise.

“Archer, you—“ Arthur said, already moving, turning his clothes into his armour.

“Settle down, Lancer,” Ritsuka told him, his tone calm, although he could hear it trembling a little. “Let’s hear him out first.”

“…you don’t remember anything?” Archer asked, arching a pale eyebrow. “Tch. This complicates things.”

There was a pause, and Archer started pacing, his every step awakening the ghosts in the castle. 

“Fujimaru Ritsuka,” he declared, stopping and crossing his hands in front of his chest, “you are the last Master in the world. Put it simply, you originally came from Chaldea, in the future. Now, I know this sounds crazy,” he continued, and none of it makes any sense to Lancer, “and believe me, I know, but it’s true. At least, it’s what I considered true.”

There was a long pause, and Arthur glanced at Ritsuka. The boy had one hand under his chin, thinking and processing Archer’s nonsensical words. 

“Ritsuka—“ He said, stepping forward, but he silenced him with a look.

“If that is indeed true, then…what is your story, Archer? How did I came to be your Master?”

“I formed a contract with you, at least in the future,” he said, his voice every bit as firm as Ritsuka’s, although Lancer detected a minute trembling in it. “In this era…well, I was summoned as a Rogue Servant, or at least I assumed as much, until my memories awakened. I was supposed to be here as a Servant of Tohsaka Rin, in the Fifth Holy Grail War. I have no wish towards the Holy Grail, I was merely there to kill my past self, Emiya Shirou, whose place _you_ are occupying in this timeline for some reason.”

“But…” Ritsuka’s voice trembled, and Arthur wanted to hold him, but he held himself back, instead trying to process what Archer had just explained. “Why am I here, then? _How_ am I here? If you are right, then how come I have memories since I was a child? How come I am able to form a contract with _two_ Servants? How does this—“ he gestured broadly at their surroundings, “— _worked_?”

“You are able to form a contract with multiple Servants, thanks to Chaldea,” he said. “As for the other questions…I have a theory that this is a Singularity. You were working to fix the Singularities, created by the King of Mages by sending Holy Grails to the past to eradicate human history and in the end, humanity itself,” he explained, but still nothing makes sense.

“Perhaps you Rayshifted here and something went wrong,” Archer added.

“You are not making any sense at all, Archer,” Lancer said, narrowing his eyes at him. 

“Am I?” He returned, with a smirk. “You, too, came from a Singularity. An abnormality. Perhaps that is why and how he was able to Summon you.”

“Then why did you kill me?” Ritsuka demanded, and Lancer felt the flames of fury kindled up within him. But he held himself back, for no other reason than his Master.

“I thought that perhaps it’d fix things,” Archer responded, his smirk turning into something darker, something more troubled. “But clearly, it didn’t.”

“I- I don’t know what you’re talking about, Archer,” Ritsuka said, shaking his head. “I could remember everything clearly. My father, meeting Mash, Taiga-sensei…it all couldn’t be a lie.”

“Mash Kyrielight was supposed to be your guardian, the first Servant you’ve formed a contract with in Chaldea,” Archer said, harshly. “I questioned her about it last night. She doesn’t remember a thing either.”

“Speaking of Mash,” Ritsuka said, taking another step forward, and Arthur couldn’t stop him, even if he wanted to. “We’ve done what you wanted. I’ve talked to you. Now please…please let her go.”

“She’s just asleep, don’t worry,” Archer said, with a wry smile. “I guess I should fulfil the end of my bargain, huh? But sadly…if you won’t listen to reason, perhaps you would, after I defeated your ‘Servant’ in battle.”

“You dare?” Arthur said, his heart thundering inside his chest, a storm of fury. “Not only you’ve insulted my Master with your nonsensical lies, you also dare to insult the bond between us. How preposterous of you, Archer, to assume that he is also your Master.”

“Lancer, please—“

“Master,” Arthur said, summoning both his lance and his horse. “You’ve heard him yourself. He wanted a fight. Let me show him what I can do. As I’ve told you, I shall become your power.”

Ritsuka looked conflicted, troubled, for a moment, and Arthur brushed it aside, already mounting his steed. But in the end…

In the end, he stepped back. Arthur smiled at him, a vicious, battle-ready smile.

“I promise I won’t disappoint you. Please stand back.”

Ritsuka nodded, smiling up at him, and that was all he needed. He raised his sacred lance high, turning to face his enemy.

“I am he who wielded the sacred lance Rhogomyniad, the spear that holds both ends of the world,” he declared. “In the name of Britain, I hereby sentenced you to death.”

“Your kingdom doesn’t hold any sway here, you false king of decaying lions,” Archer told him, with a half-moon smile, summoning his twin swords.

The clash was inevitable.

* * *

Ritsuka watched as the spear meets the sword, the sound of it ringing out in the empty castle, standing back and moving aside as Lancer commanded him, although there was really no safe place in the midst of this battle. Lancer was an absolute storm, moving in relentlessly from atop his stallion, while Archer matched him blow by blow, getting better and better as the battle goes on.

But it simply could not last forever.

“Heh. You’re pretty good,” Archer said, in the interim. 

“You’re not bad yourself,” Lancer retorted. “But let me show you where you did wrong.”

He reared back for a crushing blow, and Ritsuka thought—Ritsuka _hoped_ —that it would knock Archer down, that it would end the fight without them having to go all the way—though he know, well, _felt_ , that his Servant wanted to go all the way—but in a way, he knows that it wouldn’t.

After all, they fight as one, not merely as Master and Servant, but as a singular, separate entity altogether. He felt what Lancer felt—his fury, ruthlessness, and the joy of finally being able to fight again, to fight with an enemy that was nearly on par with him, though of course, could never be on par, near-Divine Spirit as he is—and Ritsuka was certain that his Servant felt what he felt, too. 

And perhaps that’s where they went wrong, since Ritsuka could notice how Arthur wavered in his blow—only for a moment, the moment where Ritsuka hoped that they could end this without going all the way—and, although it met its intended target and pushed Archer back, it did not crush his guard completely.

Still, it was a battle of attrition, and, tired as he was, Ritsuka was certain that he could sustain Lancer for much longer than Archer, who was without any sort of concrete mana supply. He actually wondered about how the Servant managed to exist, especially this long, without such a supply. Perhaps that Tohsaka Rin he mentioned earlier existed, though Ritsuka had never heard of her in his school, but that’s a small pool of population.

It still raises the question of her whereabouts and how Archer was able to act independently for so long now.

His train of thought was cut off by the sound of fabric ripping after another clash—this time, Arthur had managed to pierce Archer’s defence.

There was a tense moment where Ritsuka wondered if he should step in and remind his Servant that they do not kill, but it seems like he needed not to say it, because Lancer stopped his advance, though he did keep his lance pointed towards Archer’s heart.

“Surrender now,” he said, his voice a thunder heralding a storm that was about to come, “hand the girl over, and I am not going to kill you. Demonstrate to my Master that she was not harmed in any way. Proof the truth of your words.”

“You demand so much for a butcher,” Archer said, and Ritsuka could see Lancer narrowing his eyes at him angrily, pushing the lance slightly. “But fine,” he added gruffly. “Get this off my chest, and I’ll let the girl go.”

“Why not kill the mongrel outright? It’d be so much more amusing,” a voice intercepted, a voice both haughty and vainglorious. “Perhaps I should have interrupted this comedy sooner.”

Ritsuka turned to look for the source of the voice and found a golden-haired man, his handsome face graced with a bored expression, as if the world was in a perpetual state of boring him to death. Unlike Arthur, his eyes were as red as rubies, as red as the blood that runs in one’s veins. 

He smirked, stepping into the light, the killer of a little girl, and god knows who—or what—else. 

“You—“ Lancer said, immediately turned back and moved in Ritsuka’s direction to shield him from the newly-arrived Servant. “I will not let you hurt my Master.”

“Hmph,” the golden king merely said, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “I am not interested in your Master. But, since you all stand in the way of what I wanted…” his smirk turned into something darker, something hungry for _blood blood blood_ , “I will kill you like the filthy mongrels you are, especially you, _faker_.”

He spat out the last part, glaring at Archer. Then ripples in the air appeared as he summoned his weapons, and Ritsuka couldn’t help but marvel at the sheer number. He couldn’t wrap his mind around it. Even if he’d seen this before, even if he’d seen this before…this still looked like something straight out of a video game, or a nightmare. Not reality. Not real life. 

“Lancer—“ He said, the rest of the words died in his throat.

“Except for you,” Gilgamesh said, turning to face Arthur specifically. “You…I will make you mine.”

 


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ritsuka and Arthur face Gilgamesh, while the unexpected--or perhaps expected--happens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SORRY this took me so long...a lot has happened and I got hit by some variation of a writer's block. But! I am going to finish this. 
> 
> Please enjoy!

Ritsuka saw—at that moment when the golden man said he was going to claim Arthur as his—his Servant, no, his _lover_ ’s face go taut, as if remembering something that he loathed to remember. Perhaps that was indeed the case, for he sensed—from their connection—that Lancer was filled with something akin with loathing, mixed with self-righteousness, and a little of something else. Something like…attraction, or pity, all intertwining together like blood and vengeance, or love and hate.

Whatever it is, it rankled his metaphorical nose as much as Lancer’s.

“Lancer,” he managed to say, amidst the wave of feelings—and ghosts of memories—that suddenly buffeted him. “Fall back.”

For the first time, he saw Lancer tightening his grip on his lance, rearing forward instead of doing what Ritsuka commanded him to do.

“ _You_ ,” he snarled, completely absorbed in the war of the past, forgetting the present and what it means to him. For a moment, Ritsuka glimpsed what he saw in his dreams—a merciless king, a butcher king, fighting not for humanity’s protection, but for a twisted, warped view of it. He staggered for a moment at the terrifying vision, but managed to hold himself steady. “I will finish what we’d started…Archer.”

The golden man smirked, one hand stuffed inside his pocket, in all the world looking like an arrogant, vainglorious young man instead of mankind’s oldest hero. _Gilgamesh_. Ritsuka repeated his name to himself mentally. It was hard to believe that this man was a _hero_. 

“Then you better prepare yourself,” Gilgamesh said, summoning numerous weapons from his endless repertoire, the air turning heavy with the threat of them. “Lancer. Soon, you will be singing praises for me, when you became mine.”

It all happened so fast. Just like when he fought to free Lancer from Caster, this, too, happened faster than what his mind could comprehend. He could see Lancer, rearing back to attack Gilgamesh before the man could unleash his armoury, while said man is waiting for the other to unleash his attack, a smirk on his face, his red eyes shining with what could only be described as gleeful malice. 

Then Lancer propelled himself forward—Arthur, his moonlight, his lighthouse, his lover—and Ritsuka could hear himself scream, could hear himself yell out an almost incoherent command to _stop_. 

In the midst of it, the nameless man in the red coat surged forward, _forward_ —and in front of his eyes, in the ruins of a castle where a little girl and a monstrous hero used to live, the man who call himself Emiya Shirou was torn into pieces. The numerous swords and weapons Gilgamesh had called forth pierced his body and sent him to his knees.

Even then, he still tried to speak.

“T- take the girl…and run…” He gasped, every breath and word a torment far greater than those the weapons had inflicted upon his temporary spiritual body. “No…more…mana…have to…win…this war…Master,” he added, still believing that until the very end, with a smile that Ritsuka saw, a smile that was oddly peaceful and serene, in contrast to his condition. 

Before he could say anything in return, Archer’s body had scattered into gold dust.

He would never get his wish, even if he claimed that he was a man with no wish. Ritsuka once more suppressed a sob. 

“Hah. Interesting,” Gilgamesh said, in the aftermath, and Ritsuka felt his hand balled into a fist. “The faker dies so easily. I had expected more of a fight out of him. But never mind. This means that the girl is mine,” his smirk turned into something resembling the evils of the world, and Ritsuka felt himself _move_ —surging forward, running in front of the stairs, one arm outstretched, blue eyes narrowed. He will not let this evil man—who called himself the King of Heroes—to come any further, even if it means his death.

“No. I will not allow you to touch her or move any further,” he found himself saying, firmly, his feet planted just as firmly on the ground as his words. He could feel Arthur’s narrow gaze on him, judging him— _reckless, foolhardy, unfit to be a Master_ —but he doesn’t care. He wanted to keep Mash safe, too. She was his family, in a way. “Try to touch her, and I will not stop Lancer from killing you this time.”

“Tch. I am not asking for your permission, mongrel,” Gilgamesh replied, already summoning more weapons, but Ritsuka didn’t move. He tilted his head slightly, looking down at him. “You are running low on mana. His attacks won’t have much effect if you’re _dead_ ,” there was something akin to a snarl underlying his words, and Ritsuka could see that his weapons are half out of their shells now—they will fly towards him and tear him apart. “It galls me just how much effort I have to give in order to kill you. You are not even worth it.”

Ritsuka’s tense expression broke out into a smile, and he smiled at the other man, challengingly. “Go on, then,” he coaxed, had never felt so resolved in his life before. “Kill me. Go on and kill me, King of Heroes.”

He knows—could feel—that Arthur opened his mouth to say something, to stop him, but he closed it again, and the moment stretched between the three men, tense, like a bow seconds before the arrow was loosened, and the next thing he know, Gilgamesh laughed, a laugh like a mad man, a man possessed. 

“Then die,” he said, evenly.

“Don’t you dare—“ Ritsuka heard the familiar voice, the voice that was his guiding light, the voice that had grown familiar to him, closer than his own heartbeat, in the commotion that follows. He closed his eyes instinctively the moment he heard the weapons being loosened, ready to die, but—

He didn’t.

It was like that time he charged in recklessly—Arthur had swept him off his feet, roughly manhandled him so that he was nested in his arm, one arm curled around him protectively, while the other held off Gilgamesh’s numerous Noble Phantasms with his spear, a golden light forming around it. 

“Master,” he said, only a little strained, and Ritsuka could feel his pain, shared it, for he supplied him with the magical energy that he was using off. “Your orders?”

“Can you bring us closer to Mash? I can grab her, and then…let’s retreat,” he said, sensing the doubt in his own voice, but his Servant did not doubt him.

“It shall be done,” Lancer said, nodding, and the next moment, he’d repelled off Gilgamesh’s repertoire of weaponry, although it nearly exhausts him completely.

They escaped with their lives, but barely.

* * *

He found himself lingering outside the other guest room they had placed Mash in earlier, pacing and fidgeting anxiously. It had been nearly three hours since her rescue and their hasty return to the house—all thanks to the Dun Stallion—but she hasn’t moved, still asleep, like a butterfly suspended in motion. It was supposed to be a simple sleep spell, and he’d tried to undo it, but so far, she hasn’t shown any signs of waking.

“Master,” a familiar voice called him, and he instinctively turned towards its owner, like a sunflower in the presence of the sun. “Ritsuka. You haven’t rested ever since we arrive.”

“So did you,” he pointed out, trying to give him a smile, but it came out strained. He clasped his hands behind his back, tilting his head slightly, giving his Servant a studied look. He looked just as exhausted and drained as he was, shadows haunting his cool fey green eyes, but he retained his kingly composure. “You need to rest, Lancer.”

“You know I won’t rest until you do,” he said, demand creeping into his voice, and for a moment, he sounded just as kingly as his composure, and Ritsuka was reminded of the one he saw in his dreams, in his visions. “Please…Master,” he added, much more softly, his gaze softening, as well. “Get some rest. I’ll be fine.”

Ritsuka smiled, gently, and moved closer. He took his hand, held it softly in his, remembering how it felt when his soft lips touched his own hand, in the church. It hasn’t been that long, and yet…and yet it feels like forever. 

They hadn’t known each other for long, in a relationship designed not to last, but it felt…to Ritsuka, it felt as if they were meant for each other.

Perhaps Archer was right. Perhaps they are both anomalies, rogue stars pulling each other into their gravity. 

“Would you like a mana transfer, Lancer?” He asked, only a bit impishly, and, when he saw his wordless nod, tiptoed up to kiss him on the lips, gently, as if they were still in the dream and he was afraid that it would end. Arthur kissed him back, and they kissed each other for a while, every kiss a little more protective and wilful than the last one, until they finally recognise their shared need for air.

Silence passed between them, shortly, a gentle one, trickling between them like a slow-moving, silvery forest stream, and Ritsuka moved closer, letting Arthur’s arms draw him closer, allowing him to hold him, there, in the moment, in an echo between the eternal and the ephemeral. 

“Master…I had to tell you something,” Arthur finally broke the silence, pulling back just enough so Ritsuka could see his expression. Ritsuka nodded wordlessly, seeing, for a moment, doubt warring with fear in his lover’s eyes. But whatever it is, he swallowed it, and soldiered on. “I- I lied. When I told you about how we could wait until after the war…” he faltered, but only for a moment, and Ritsuka’s heart goes out for him, although he could feel it sink in his chest, “I lied. There is no such thing. You see, after the war, I…”

“…would disappear,” Ritsuka finished his sentence, swallowing his own fear. “I know. I know, but I chose not to, because I don’t want to face that fact. Lancer, I…” he felt himself reach out, hands seeking the other man’s face, cupping it, “I don’t want you to disappear,” he choked out, suppressing the sadness that clawed on him, the despair that threatens to swallow him whole if he gave it notice. “I’d promised…well, I’d promised to the you I saw in my dream, that I would help you regain your humanity. I will never abandon that promise.”

Arthur’s eyes were like a kaleidoscope, a telescope that allowed him to peer into the truth, for once, naked with warring emotions as they were at that moment. Ritsuka thought that he could get lost in the pasture that was his eyes forever—run with the horses that lived there, for eternity, under a sky as big and as blue as a dream unending, wild and free and unafraid. He was afraid that Arthur would pull away, then, but he didn’t. Instead, he pulled Ritsuka close, closer than his own heartbeat, his breath teasing his ear.

“Then make love to me, Master,” he whispered, and Ritsuka could feel the rush of his own heart like a river gone mad. “Let me rephrase that. Allow me to make love to you. Just for tonight. Please.”

“Anything,” Ritsuka told him, breathless, feeling Arthur’s lips on his. “For you, anything.”

 


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "In the half-darkness, Arthur’s eyes burned."
> 
> Ritsuka and Arthur, together at last, on the night before the final battle with Gilgamesh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As we are nearing the final chapter, I just want to say, from the bottom of my heart, if you have been following this from the beginning--if you'd just found this and only started reading--thank you. Even if you didn't leave kudos or comments, it still means a lot to me that you stuck around this far. I started this fic as a flight of fancy and somehow it grew this big. I know it was nothing compared to others' works, and honestly? I am BAD with writing long fics, but the fact still stands, this is my longest multichaptered fic so far. 
> 
> If you loved Arthur, don't worry, I have plans to write more of him and this dumb ship (and his dumb ice bitch king ass), so welcome to hell, we're stuck together forever. Sorry for suddenly channeling Jalter.
> 
> Anyway. I got a little carried away. Enjoy!

It was a night he remembered clearly.

Their foray into his room was slow and romantic; Arthur let Ritsuka led him by the hand through the darkened hallway, and every now and then they stop to kiss each other senseless, or made a new discovery out of the other’s body.

His room was dark when they arrived there. A little moonlight, however, falls through the curtained window; lean and silvery, the light made obscure patterns on the floor, and on the empty futon on the floor.

“I’ve took it out earlier since you clearly needed rest. But since you worry about the girl so much…” Arthur broke the silence, but trailed off into silence again. Ritsuka nodded, wordlessly. He led him by the hand through the threshold, letting him go to close the door behind him, though he let it open a little, just enough for some extra light to get in.

In the half-darkness, Arthur’s eyes burned.

“Master…” he started, again, and Ritsuka could see everything in his eyes: the inevitable battle with Gilgamesh, the Holy Grail, the aftermath. It swum and swum like visions— _his_ eyes were burning visions in the dark, two points of light in a destroyed and darkened world. There was longing, regret, desire, and passion, enough to kindle the entire city into eternal daylight, forever. 

“No. Ritsuka,” Arthur corrected himself, shaking his head. He reached out for Ritsuka’s hand, bringing it close to his lips, kissing it once. “Will you let me take the lead?”

Ritsuka thought he saw a slight tremor pass through the king’s hand, and a slight blush on his cheeks to accompany it, but he might be imagining things, in the half-darkness of the room. He started a smile, gaze meeting Arthur’s. 

“Of course,” he said. Arthur lets go of his hand only to seize him by the waist, pulling him closer for a deep, passionate kiss. “Anything for you, my king. I thought I’d told you that.”

“You stole my line,” Arthur returned, after he lets him go—after he kissed him quite senseless again, of course—and gave him a smile. Ritsuka thought he’d never looked so beautiful, haloed by dark light, his scent intoxicating, his body pressed so close to him, warm and inviting. He felt blood rushing to his cheeks. “My Master, how should I please you tonight?”

Ritsuka once more tiptoed up to kiss him—by the lips, by the nose, by the cheeks, by the jawline, anywhere on his beautiful face he could land his lips on—and felt himself flush, both by the excitement and by the undeniable fact that the man he was kissing was magnificently beautiful, even dressed as he was now, in ordinary clothing that he picked out of his father’s personal belongings. He tried to imagine him naked on his bed.

“Just…never leave me,” Ritsuka whispered, coaxed the words out of his enchanted throat, reverently, as if he was praying and Arthur was the icon, as if he was praying and Arthur was the manifestation of everything divine. It was not the Holy Grail he wanted, it was _him_ , with longing and desire and passion in his fey green eyes. “Stay,” he choked out, remembering their conversation earlier in front of Mash’s room.

He felt some tears trickling down his cheek, and then a soft intervention—Arthur’s lips was on it, kissing his tears away, and Ritsuka couldn’t help but smile.

“You,” he said, fondly, pulling him ever closer, “you were always…”

“Always what?” Arthur asked, tasting the salt of his tears, wiping the rest with the back of his hand, gently, and afterwards, Ritsuka kissed his hand, and Arthur kissed him on the lips, again, fully. 

“Nothing,” he said, gasping as he felt Arthur’s lips and tongue sliding down his neck, nibbling him softly. 

His tears and fear of what’s about to come was soon forgotten by the sensation of Arthur’s lips and tongue and teeth and hands, Ritsuka himself was busy undressing the older man. 

They fell to his bed, then, clothes half-undone, eyes and minds and hearts full of desire for each other, bodies tangling together like vines. Arthur was on top of him, hands pinning his beside his head, and their tongues and lips meet, somewhere in the middle. Eventually, however, he had to let go of his hands, one after another, leaving his hands free to roam Arthur’s body like what the older man was doing, but Ritsuka chose to enjoy the sensation of being stripped, of letting the other man please him by doing what he wanted with him. 

He did, however, try to gain more friction by rubbing his arousal on the other’s thigh. They were naked by now, their clothes scattered madly upon the floor, moonlight making love to it.

“A- Arthur,” Ritsuka moaned, feeling the other’s lips on his neck, his hand on his arousal, stroking it. “Please…please don’t stop,” he gasped. 

“Yes, my Master. Anything you wish,” he said, an angelic voice in the half-dark, the only thing that existed in the winter night, and Ritsuka felt his moans reaching a crescendo—he needed release. He needed Arthur inside of him. 

He needed him, so badly it hurts, want coursing through his veins like his own blood, driving him to half-gasping madness, and a part of him vaguely realised that now Arthur was holding him, gently, in his arms like everything precious in the world.

“Please…please,” Ritsuka could only gasp, chest heaving with such longing and desire that he was afraid it would drive him mad, “my Lion King, my knight. Do it. _Now_.”

He couldn’t see him, but he imagined that he could see Arthur smile, the radiance lighting up his face, giving him a humanity that his kingly mien and sacred lance had nearly taken away. 

“Patience, my Master,” he rebuked, though very gently, holding him in his arms as he would a small child, kissing his cheek. “We are getting there.”

Ritsuka managed to steal a kiss from right under his nose, and Arthur kissed him back, slowly, surely, passionately, before pulling away. Ritsuka, for some reason, could feel tears, again, welling in his eyes, but he held them back, the way he bit his tongue.

“I won’t be long, Master,” Arthur said, brushing aside a stray lock of dark hair from his face, and Ritsuka nodded, wordlessly. Servant as he was, Arthur’s body was still human, which means that he needed lubrication if he was going to enter him. 

In the aftermath, Ritsuka remembered, he had never felt so _complete_ —not as if he’d been walking around with a missing part all this time, but as if he had been whole, but then he met another who was also whole, and that…well, he remembered when he first Summoned him, his magical circuits was on fire, and he felt as if he could feel the entire Universe burning inside of him, and it was more than that. It was fire and thunder and sunlight and the monstrous beginning of the world, and everything all at once—and, when he gasped Arthur's name on his lips as the older man entered him, he felt...strangely free, and he wondered if that is his feeling, or Arthur's, since he doesn't know anymore when he ended and Arthur begins, and vice versa.

Now, their bodies pressed close to each other under the blanket, it might have been summer, an eternal, everlasting summer, instead of the middle of winter. It was ironic—for someone so cold and aloof, once he had thawed, even before then, Arthur was _warm_. Ritsuka draws closer at the thought, and he could feel Arthur’s hold tightened around him for a moment.

“I wish…I wish we could live inside this moment forever,” he said, recklessly, breaking the silence, still out of breath after everything that happened. “Live inside this night forever,” he continued, giving the other a soft, brief kiss on the lips. “Don’t you think that would be great?”

He thought he saw Arthur’s eyes darkened, for a moment, and sensed great pain from him, but it quickly ebbed away, and Arthur smiled, a small smile, but a smile nevertheless. He reached out and ruffled Ritsuka’s hair affectionately.

“Yes, Ritsuka. That would be great,” he said, and, even though Ritsuka knew the final battle hung between them like a pendulum, or a great metaphorical sword above them that could cleave them any moment now, even though he knew that there are a lot of things Arthur kept to himself—that was left unsaid—he smiled, anyway, smiled like he never did before, and let his Servant—his lover, his moonlight, his _king_ —kissed him on the lips. 

They held each other, then, tightly, as if that could somehow stave off tomorrow, afraid for each other, protective of each other, and, eventually, the night works its magic, and Ritsuka felt his eyelids droop. 

The last thing he remembered before sleep took him was the warmth of the body holding him—ephemeral though it was—and a soft kiss on his forehead.

“Goodnight, Master. My brave Master, humanity's saviour. My beloved,” he heard Arthur said, and sleep claimed him.

It was like being awakened from a long dream, at last.

 


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A long dream finally comes to an end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are at last, at the ~~end of the world~~ last chapter. I know I've said this before, but: thank you for sticking around. Don't worry, this isn't the last you seen of me! I'm already plotting my next fic, mwahahaha.
> 
> For the last time, enjoy!

He had long since abandoned his claim at humanity, yet that night, with another warm body beside him, sleeping soundly—the body of his Master, his lover, his voice of reason—Arthur felt as if…as if even with everything that has happened, even with the technicalities, even with his claim at humanity forfeited, he _was_ human.

It was strange, since now he was a Heroic Spirit, little more than a phantom inhabiting a temporary body made manifest by magecraft, yet he had never felt so alive, so…free.

Arthur remembered how Ritsuka smiled at him, how the light did not turn him into a hero or a god, but a human, still, with all his flaws and shortcomings. He remembered how soft his lips felt, when he kissed him, how warm and welcoming his mouth was, as he parted his mouth slowly for him when they kissed, how tender his skin felt under his touch, the salt of his tears and the soft musky scent of his body. 

Most of all, he remembered how felt liberated when they joined, as if all the metaphorical chains binding him had suddenly vanished. 

It was not—at that moment, the moment that stretches into eternity—the Holy Grail that he had wanted all along, nor saving humanity, but this mortal body he was holding, so frail and ephemeral, a candle in the middle of a fierce storm, yet a candle stronger than any other light.

“If only…if only I could keep you safe forever, Master,” he found himself saying, whispering to the night, holding Ritsuka’s sleeping form tightly, fear started clouding his eyes.

For tomorrow was the last battle of the war, and even if they won…Arthur closed his eyes, and sleep, although it was elusive at first, claimed him too, at last.

* * *

The lake was still pitch black in the aftermath.

In Arthur’s memory, he was seeing a different kind of lake, the waters blue as the sky the day he did not die, lapping gently, a mirror towards another world. 

He remembered, now.

He remembered commanding with his dying breath his most loyal knight— _Saber_ —to throw his sacred sword to that lake, the lake that he could envision then, as he lay dying, even if his obstinate vision was slowly being replaced with those of a garden.

He remembered his sacred sword, remembered scouring the planet for it, in all his grief and loss, after Bedivere went missing with it.

He remembered the city he built at the end of the world, silver and perfect, where he sat with his knights and plotted the salvation of humanity, anointed by God Himself. 

He remembered the first Summoning, the broken man who wanted to save humanity, the fourth Holy Grail War, when he released his sacred spear’s True Name the first time under the man’s command, even as he howled in horror and cursed the man to the skies.

Then he remembered…the second Summoning, the boy, _oh_ , the boy who was on his last leg, begging for help, the boy who had stirred something deep in his heart, the heart that had died for a decade, that had lay broken and desiccated inside of him like a broken doll, or a discarded piece of memory.

The Holy Grail was a monster, a cursed eye looking down upon the world, ready to pour out its curses. It was not the golden cup he vaguely remembered, not a blessing from God, or a wish-granting device. 

He remembered destroying it, rearing back and revealing the True Name of the sacred spear that he bears—this time not with a howl of pain and frustration, but with resolve as cold and as cutting as the light that Rhongomyniad released.

In the aftermath, the lake was still pitch black.

Ritsuka fell to his knees after he reached the shore, and Arthur immediately dismounted to run to him. He was carrying Archer’s temporary Master, who was injured after the ordeal but still alive, somehow. 

“We made it,” Ritsuka said, looking up at him, smiling with tears in his eyes. “We made it, Lancer. We destroyed the Holy Grail. We defeated the priest,” he continued, and Arthur, too, can’t help but smile, slightly. Part of him wanted to sweep Ritsuka off his feet and embrace him, but for the moment, he held himself back.

“Yes, Master,” he said, fighting the urge to wipe Ritsuka’s tears, too. “We did it. Congratulations. You have truly…saved humanity this day.”

“I guess so,” Ritsuka replied, hastily wiping the tears from his eyes, slowly getting back to his feet. “I- I couldn’t have done it without you, though.”

Arthur didn’t know how to respond to that, so he simply nodded, tilted his head, and smiled. “It was your bravery and resolve that pulled you through, however, Master,” he pointed out, reaching out to touch Ritsuka’s face, gently. “I would never be able to work with someone less than that.”

Silence passed by for a moment, and Ritsuka’s eyes, as he tilted his chin up, was every bit as defiant as he made him out to be. 

“But you said I was barely a Master,” he said, with a touch of impishness in his boyish voice. “And that you are going to kill me.”

Arthur lets him go and smiled, again, this time with a touch of wistfulness. “You had passed the test. You should know by now that you _are_ my Master.”

“Yes,” Ritsuka nodded, and fell silent. “However…”

“It seems like we have finally come to this,” he told him, still smiling, still wistful, standing beside the pitch black lake, gaze steadfastly fixed to the one he loved, the one he held most precious above all things. 

“We have come to this,” Ritsuka agreed, evading Arthur’s gaze for a moment.

“My contract with you has come to an end, Ritsuka,” Arthur said, out of formality, feeling the smile slowly turning to ash. “You have fulfilled your end of the bargain, and I have fulfilled mine. So…”

“Will you allow me to kiss you one last time?” Ritsuka said, abruptly, taking a step forward, fear and longing and desire entwined in his blue, blue eyes, the eyes that had enchanted him, haunted him. “Please?”

Arthur took it a step further and closed the distance between them, stooped down to kiss him by the lips like they did last night, lingering only for a moment, wishing that time could— _would_ —stop, though even then, he could already feel himself evaporating from the world he was never meant to inhabit again.

A phantom is a phantom, and after all, even ghosts had to go after a certain period of time. He stepped back, then, and smiled, satisfied. 

It was like being awakened from a long, long dream.

“I think we need not be so formal now,” he teased, trying his best not to lean forward and wipe Ritsuka’s tears, but he did, anyway. “The time for that has long since passed. And please…Master, do not cry. I have no regrets. My life has ended,” he added, airily, feeling at peace with that fact for the first time since he’d failed to truly die, back then. “I hope you can understand that by now. Though…” he wavered, not knowing whether he should say it or not, but his time was getting shorter, and in the end, he chose to say it.

“You reminded me how it was like to be alive again, like never before, to be human again. You did help me reclaim my humanity, and for that, I am forever grateful to you, Ritsuka Fujimaru,” Arthur told him, smiling, straightening up himself even as he felt his Spirit Origin slowly disappearing from the world—the world which Ritsuka inhabits, and which he felt grateful that he could inhabit along with him, even if only for such a short and limited time—and the gold dust rose up into the dark sky, slowly, but surely, like the tears of a dying star.

And yet. And yet, Arthur Pendragon now had no regrets.

“I wish—“ Ritsuka choked out, and Arthur waited, patiently. “I wish we had more time. I wish I had told you sooner. I wish it didn’t need to end like this,” he said, shaking his head, and Arthur once more gently wiped away his tears with the back of his hand.

He shook his head, and touched Ritsuka’s face again, gently. “I have no regrets. Our date, our time spent training and talking and eating together, and even last night…I savoured each and every moment. Do not be sad. Ritsuka,” he added, smiling brighter than before, mustering all his energy to stave off the evaporation for one last moment. 

“My Master, my brave Master…I will be waiting for you at the garden at the end of time,” he told him. “I will see you there.”

And he disappeared into the gold dust of wishes, the gold dust of heroes and gods and stories, with the ghost of a kiss on Ritsuka’s lips.

* * *

“…pai. Senpai,” a voice cuts through the silent void between consciousness and unconsciousness, and he felt himself slowly being dragged to consciousness, leaving the dregs of empty palaces of memories behind. _Did it really happen?_ An echo of his mind’s own voice asked, in-between the push and pull of the forces, but he didn’t really have time to dwell on the question. “Wake up,” the female voice said, with no reproach, but with affection. “I can’t believe you fell asleep. I left you only for a bit.”

Ritsuka blinked, tasting salt on the tip of his tongue and the cold touch of tears on his cheeks. His back hurts—he was leaning against a tree, his legs all stretched out before him, and he must have dozed off when his junior left him to go to the washroom for a bit. Anyone else would have blamed the other party—though he was sure Mash didn’t go for _that_ long—but Ritsuka merely smiled, or _tried_ to, while trying to blink away both the sleepiness and the tears that had seemingly come for no reason. 

“Senpai,” Mash repeated, this time with a note of surprise, leaning down to look at him. “Are you okay? You’re crying,” she said, and Ritsuka stared at her, for a moment, dumbfounded, trying to remember everything up until this moment, and smiled. This time, he was able to muster one.

“I’m okay,” he told her, his own voice clear and strong, and he straightened up himself, dusting off some grass from his trousers. “It was just a long dream.”

Mash looked at him, then, doubt in her eyes, and concern, too, but she smiled, as well, shaking it all off. She, too, straightened up herself. Ritsuka felt glad at her presence. 

“Then, shall we get going?” She said, the smile lighting up her kind eyes. “I’m sorry to have made you wait.”

“No, it’s okay,” Ritsuka shook his head. “I’m sorry I fell asleep.”

The tombstone was nothing special. Certainly it does not fit a king. It looked like an ordinary grave, though there was some sort of an extraordinary aura around it, even if it’s subtle and not very noticeable right away. People flit around, out and about, but when they arrived, they all leave, leaving just the two of them in the scene, as if they know of the story of the Holy Grail War that they had survived from. It was funny, Ritsuka thought, looking down at the grave, Mash beside him.

“I’ll leave you alone with him, Senpai,” Mash said, laying a hand on his arm for a moment.

He looked down at the grave, then, at the tombstone that bears a familiar inscription—he had read about it, after all, after the War, read everything he could about him, even come all this way to the Mage’s Association to learn more and be more—at the flowers people left, then up, at the blue, blue sky above England, the colour offsetting the green of the grass and the colourful flowers. 

“Perhaps I should have brought one,” Ritsuka said, eyeing the flowers, more to himself than to anyone else, and really, he was alone, wasn’t he?

“But then, I don’t know what flowers are your favourite. And you—the version of ‘you’ I know—would probably balk at the thought of me giving you flowers. After all, flowers aren’t very practical, are they?” He mused out loud, tilting his head. “I’m sorry,” he said, falling to his knees. “Sorry I don’t know what to say. Sorry I wasn’t very good with words. But…” He trailed off, unconsciously touching his lips, remembering how he felt on it, when they were together, no matter how briefly—the infinite tenderness—and Ritsuka felt a certain yearning flared and gone inside of his chest, like a star being born and then immediately goes supernova. 

“But I want you to know that I have no regrets, either,” Ritsuka finally said, a little louder, as if he could hear him. As if Arthur was beside him. “Farewell for now, my king. The garden at the end of time—wherever it is—I shall meet you there,” he said, smiling, though he could feel the threat of tears, again, and stood up, bravely, defiantly, remembering the night they met.

The winter night, laden with the ashes of roses. The winter night, two years ago, where he died, and comes back to life. 

“It’s spring now,” Ritsuka found himself saying, chasing the train of thoughts away, wiping his tears with the back of his hand hastily. “I’ll come with roses next time, perhaps.”

He hesitated for a moment in his monologue, tasting the words slowly in his tongue before he rolled it out. 

“I didn’t get a chance to tell you this,” he said, with a note of finality. “But I love you.”

He could imagine Arthur blush—the way the blood would colour his cheeks, the manner in which he would look away—and smiled.

Then he walked away, knowing, with full understanding, that their story had finally come to an end.

**FIN**

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments & suggestions are welcome <3


End file.
